


Shatter

by 7_wonders



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2019-11-15 22:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7_wonders/pseuds/7_wonders
Summary: Your coven is at war with the Antichrist, who has sworn to bring about the total destruction of the world. The only problem is that your mortal enemy just happens to be your boyfriend, Michael Langdon. After the coven decides that your relationship can't stand, Michael takes action.





	1. Dying is Easy, Living is Harder

No matter what type of school you’ve attended, you always manage to forget important things. Growing up, you always had to call your mother from the office phone to get her to bring you your lunch. When you first entered high school, many of your free periods were spent rushing back to your house to grab a paper that you left on your desk or a project that was still drying in the garage. Even though your schooling has changed and you’re now honing your craft at Miss Robichaux's, old habits die hard.

You’re searching frantically for your potions book, not wanting to face the wrath of Madison, who had already sent you a glare when you sheepishly explained that your book was missing. It takes you three minutes to remember that you’re a witch who has been working on divination. Grabbing the jar of rocks sitting on your roommate’s nightstand, you spread them across the floor. In a matter of seconds, you smile triumphantly when the location of your book appears. Predictably, it’s under a pile of clothes that you have yet to wash and still remain on the floor. 

As you return the rocks to their jar, a bang sounds from downstairs. It doesn’t phase you; many of the newer girls routinely set off small explosions when they attempt their first potion or spell. It’s only when more bangs are followed by screams that you start to get concerned. 

The unmistakable scent of gunpowder stings your nose when you creep out of your room. You know that heading towards the sounds of screams is a bad idea, but your feet have a mind of their own in this moment. When you peek your head around the bannister to look into the foyer, you have to stop yourself from retching at the sight. 

Your sister witches are all lying in various positions through the main floor of the house. Blood pools from each body, forming a sickly looking coat of varnish over the once-light wood floors. You don’t give yourself time to find the person who shot your sisters, scrambling down the hall back to your room. 

Slamming and locking the door behind you, you let out a curse at how loud the sound is and pray that the killer either isn’t in the house or won’t be able to tell what room the noise came from. The dresser moves from one side of the room to barricade the door with a flick of your finger. You’re about to attempt a charm to seal the door when you hear shouting from the stairs. The closet becomes your last line of defense as you crouch in the corner of the small room, closing the door behind you.

Attempting to make yourself as small as possible, you cover yourself with the piles of clothes littering your floor. Since you’re not quite sure whether the assailant possesses magic abilities, you try to breathe as quiet as possible. 

You clap a hand over your mouth when you hear the doorknob to your room rattling. You didn’t even know you had been crying until you feel the tears sliding down your chin, littering the clothes covering you. 

When the door is smashed open, you draw blood in an attempt to stifle your screams. You don’t even have a chance to react when light floods into the closet and a short woman with black lipstick hauls you up by your hair. 

“No!” You scream out. “Please, I haven’t done anything!” The woman ignores you, dragging you along behind her. The gun attached to her arm makes you feel lightheaded, and you start kicking in an attempt to get away. “Help! Somebody HELP!” You shriek in the hopes that Miss Cordelia is still alive and can hear you. When you reach the foyer, the woman throws you down. You sit on your knees amongst the blood and carnage of your sisters, shaking from fear. 

“Found one!” Your soon-to-be killer announces, a triumphant grin on her face. It’s sick, you realize, that she’s waiting for her accomplice to show up so they can shoot you like a dog. As a witch who draws power from the light, you know that it’d be damn near impossible for you to harm these people. Still, you raise your hands in the air, wracking your brain for any spell that might be able to help you. 

The sound of expensive shoes clicking from the kitchen permeates the silence of the house. You clench your eyes shut, resigning yourself to your fate. 

“Do you want to do the honors or should I?” The woman asks. 

“Ms. Mead, no! This is the one I told you about, remember?” The voice sounds too good to be true, and you wonder for a moment if you’re already dead. When your eyes fall open, the angelic face of Michael Langdon appears in front of you. He’s smiling, as if you’ve seen each other again in a restaurant instead of among the scene of a massacre. 

You had met Michael for the first time at the Hawthorne school. Since you’re considered ‘advanced,’ Miss Cordelia wanted to bring you along as she heard the council’s case for allowing a warlock to perform the Seven Wonders. You weren’t allowed in on the actual council meeting, so you sat in the library, perusing their vast selection of books. 

_ “Well, you’re not who I expected to see.” A male voice sounds from behind you. You turn around, a book on sigils in your hands, and smile when you see the blonde warlock.  _

_ “Sorry. I’m waiting for the council meeting to finish, so I figured I’d check out the library.” With his hands clasped behind his back, he strides towards you.  _

_ “And how are you finding it?” He questions.  _

_ “You have Robichaux’s beat, I’ll admit.” The warlock glances at the book in your hands before humming.  _

_ “No books on sigils or dark arts at the school for exceptional young women?” The contempt drips from his voice.  _

_ “I’m afraid not. Since we draw our power from the light, it’s best not to dabble in the darker aspects of magic.” You recite what you’re so often told at the school.  _

_ “And you?” He asks. When you quirk an eyebrow, he smirks. “Are you one to dabble in the darker aspects of magic?” You think for a moment before shrugging.  _

_ “I certainly don’t shy away from it, let’s leave it at that.” He grins at that, and the sight takes your breath away.  _

_ “Michael Langdon.” He extends a hand, which you gladly take.  _

_ “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” _

Your relationship with Michael progressed so much quicker than any previous relationship you’d ever been involved in. After he passed the Seven Wonders, you were forced by Miss Cordelia to choose your coven over your boyfriend. You hadn’t talked to him in three weeks, since your ban went into effect. 

“Michael.” You gasp, looking up at him in awe. “What are you doing here? Did the warlocks know we were being attacked?” That damned signature smirk of his appears again as he holds out a hand for you to take. You get pulled to your feet, kissing him gratefully. “Thank you so much, I was so scared.” He looks down at you, a protective look in his eyes. 

“There’s no need to be scared, I’m here now.” You look at your would-be executioner, who’s standing still at Michael’s side. “Oh, to answer your question, the warlocks didn’t send me to stop this. I was the one who started it.” He looks so proud of this fact that you almost want to ask him if he understands he just committed mass murder.

“You did this? You killed all of my sister witches?” Michael nods, resisting your subtle attempts to get away from him. “Why? Why the hell would you do this?” You ask. 

“They were taking you away from me, (Y/N), just like they took away my Ms. Mead.” You shudder as he strokes your hair, a gesture that once brought you comfort. 

“Michael, do you know how messed up this is? You don’t solve problems like this! You talk things through, you come up with solutions that don’t involve murdering innocent people!” The pride on Michael’s face slowly morphs into confusion as you shove him away from you. 

“I did this to save you.” He stutters. You wipe the tears away from your face with the back of your hand, trying to stop crying long enough to actually see his face. 

“You didn’t  _ save  _ me. I didn’t need saving! Right now, the only person I need saving from is you.” Your voice quivers, a sign of weakness that you did not want to show. Michael’s own eyes fill with tears at your statement, and you have to stop yourself from rushing over to apologize. 

“Ms. Mead.” His head snaps to the woman with the machine gun for an arm. You’re not sure what he’s communicating to her until she pins your arms behind your back. 

“Michael, don’t do this. You can make everything right! Just bring them back to life and we can forget that this ever happened.” He shakes his head, a pitying smile appearing. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). You’ll forgive me, though. In time.” Before you can even process what’s happening, Michael waves his hand and your world goes black.


	2. Change Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the shooting of your sisters and your subsequent capture by Michael, you’re despondent with grief and uncertainty. When Michael finally reaches his breaking point, you realize you need to act if you want to save yourself and regain your freedom.

You’ve lost track of the days that you’ve been kept as Michael’s prisoner. However often he insists that you’re not a prisoner, you’d have to argue that keeping somebody locked in a room counts. The house, you’ve learned, belongs to the person that your almost-killer robot is based off of. If you thought that the things you’ve encountered before are weird, Michael having mommy issues and making a robot copy of his mother figure takes the cake. 

Your days, which once used to involve learning more about magic and bonding with your sisters, now consists of staring at a wall while ignoring Michael and plotting how to get out of captivity. You think about your sisters a lot. Seeing Queenie, Zoe, and all of the younger students laying dead on the floor is still imprinted in your brain. Your dreams, when you can actually get to sleep, play that scene over and over again. 

From what you’ve learned, Miss Cordelia escaped with Myrtle and Mallory. Since Michael used a spell to strip you of your magic, it seems like the three runaway witches are your only hope. 

A courtesy knock sounds on the door before Michael opens it. You turn to look out the window, which has been sealed to prevent you from getting out. 

“I brought you some food.” He says. 

“You can just leave it on the nightstand.” You gesture towards the piece of furniture, not looking at your captor. He does as you requested, but instead of turning to leave, he settles on the bed next to you. Attempting to place a hand on your shoulder, he gives up when you curl yourself into a ball to get away from him. 

“(Y/N), if you would just accept your current situation, you wouldn’t have to be stuck in here all the time.” Michael, thinking you would be fine after they got you out of Miss Robichaux’s, had made the mistake of letting you roam the house during your first day. After you nearly escaped five times, he decided it’d be best to keep you locked up like some Disney princess. 

“How do you expect me to accept the fact that you killed all of my sisters and then took me against my will?” 

“I thought you would be happy that I was freeing you. They were keeping us apart!” He argues, raising his voice. 

“Yeah, and if you had spent time with any  _ normal  _ people in the past five years, you would know that what you did is not how people handle things!” You retort. You finally look at him, momentarily taken aback at seeing his piercing eyes for the first time in days. 

“I  _ love  _ you. I did this for us.” You close your eyes, shrugging. 

“And I loved you, Michael.” He tilts his head towards the ceiling, a telltale sign that he’s trying to hold back tears. 

“I really hope you can think long and hard about your feelings tonight. I really don’t want to have to make you love me again by force, but if it comes down to it I will give you a push in the direction you’re meant to be going.” You’re stunned. Michael couldn’t be serious. There’s no way that he would actually use magic on you to make you bend to his wishes. 

“You wouldn’t dare. Even something as evil as you knows that messing with the natural balance of things has dire consequences.” 

“And you should know that I’m not afraid to tip the scales in my favor.” He stands and walks for the door. “Think about it.” You lunge for the door, but it’s closed before you can grab it. 

“Michael!” You shout, banging on the door. “Michael, please! Let me out!” You smash your fists against the door for another five minutes before giving up, collapsing to the floor in sobs. Even after everything you’d been through lately, the idea of no longer having free will terrifies you to your very core. 

_ If I can’t get out of here with my powers,  _ you decide,  _ I’ll just break out the old-fashioned way.  _

* * *

If there was one good thing about being trapped in a small bedroom day in and day out, it was that you knew everybody’s schedules down to the minute. Friday, you learned, was always the day when Michael went to go work on plans for the apocalypse at Kineros Robotics. Since this was the birthplace of the new Ms. Mead, she also went with Michael for tune-ups.

You’ve been planning this for a week. You knew that the door was enchanted to shock you whenever you attempted to pick the lock, so that was a no-go. The window, however, was only sealed. After some calculations, you figured that there’s a good chance you might be able to break the glass and crawl out. 

Michael comes into your room before leaving, a plate of food in his hands. You hate the way that your heart still clenches when you see him in one of his favorite suits. Since this will hopefully be the last time you partake in this routine, you decide that you can afford to let your guards down a little. 

“You look nice today.” You say quietly. Michael looks shocked before smiling. 

“Thank you. I’m, uh, wearing the-”

“The outfit you wore the day we met. I noticed.” You allow yourself to smile slightly at Michael. He sits next to you and takes your hands in his, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. 

“I’m...sorry, that things happened the way that they did. It’s all part of a greater plan, but I should have taken a different approach when I got you here.” He caresses your cheek, and you lean into his touch. 

“I’d like to talk when you get back from Kineros today, if that’s alright with you?” 

“I’d like that a lot.” Michael smiles. “I have to go, but I’m glad you’re finally coming around.” It’s a moment of pure weakness when you lean in and kiss Michael. You’re not sure why you’re doing it, only that it feels good and that this will probably be the last time you’re ever going to see him again. No matter how much pain he’s caused as of late, he’s still the first boy you’ve ever loved. All the pain in the world couldn’t scrub away the place he’ll forever occupy in your heart. 

“See you when you get back.” You whisper. Michael leans in for another quick kiss, muttering how much he loves you before standing and leaving. When the door clicks behind him, you don’t feel the despair that you normally do. Instead, you start making plans for your escape. 

You wait for an hour after Michael and Ms. Mead have left, to be safe. Breaking the window open is the easy part; you only had to wrap your elbow in a towel and slam it against the window a couple of times before the glass shattered. Now, staring at the ground two stories down, you’re wondering why you never went rock climbing before. You yank the sheets and blankets off of your bed, hastily tying them together and fashioning a rope. Tying one end around the bedpost and the other around you, you slowly begin your descent out the window. You’re not very good at rappelling, but you manage to get the job done. 

The second your feet touch the ground, your knees buckle with the surge of power that courses through you.  _ He may be the Antichrist, but he doesn’t know anything about a good binding spell if he bound my magic to the house,  _ you think with satisfaction. Flexing your hand, you watch as the tangible tendrils of raw power leak through. You only give yourself a short amount of time to relish in the feeling of your magic being back before getting a move on. 

You could use your magic to transmutate away from this neighborhood, but you don’t want to leave any traces of your magic behind that could be used to track you, so you settle for walking while you think. 

“If I was Miss Cordelia, where would I be hiding?” You mutter, kicking a rock ahead of you. When a bird flies overhead, you gasp. “Of course!” Making sure the coast is clear, you close your eyes and concentrate on the little shack that sits in the midst of the Louisiana swamps. You think of the humidity and the sounds of the cicadas in the trees, the distant noise of boat engines humming from the bayou. You see Misty Day, twirling to Stevie Nicks, and the checkerboard pattern of her bedspread. When you feel the familiar tugging at your navel, you smile. 

Shrieks fill your ears when you land on the floor of Misty’s shack. You’re breathing rapidly, not having used that much magic in a long time. Miss Cordelia falls beside you, pulling you into her arms. For the first time since the shootings, you finally feel at home. 

“Oh, my sweet girl. My dear (Y/N), you’re safe now.” You clutch at your mentor tightly, making out the shapes of your surviving sisters through your tears. 

“It was Michael, he-he killed everyone, and then he to-took me, and-”

“Shhh.” Miss Cordelia soothes you, rubbing your back. “He can’t get you now. We’ve got you.” Although there’s still an Antichrist with plans for world destruction on the loose, you know that you’re finally safe and at home with the sisters you have left. 


	3. All I Ask of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of your successful escape from Ms. Mead’s house, through the eyes of both yourself and Michael.

_ Something’s wrong. Michael can’t pinpoint it, but he can feel that something is terribly wrong. The throbbing behind his eyes is almost painful, and he can barely focus on whatever nonsense Jeff and Mutt are speaking about.  _

_ “Great.” He snaps after they finally shut up. The chair rolls back with more force than necessary when Michael stands up. The two buffoons scramble up after him, waiting for their savior to continue. “We need to cut our meeting short. I have other business to attend to.”  _

_ “‘Business?’ Like...business with a lady?” Mutt snickers, high fiving an excited Jeff. Michael glares at him, but chooses not to fire back.  _

_ “Ms. Mead.” He calls. The robot appears from the other room, upgrades having been completed minutes before. “We’re leaving.” Michael’s hands are clammy and his heart is beating erratically, further confirming that something is wrong.  _

_ “So, uh, see you next Friday?” Jeff asks. Michael gives a noncommittal hum, giving the two a curt nod before holding his hand out for Ms. Mead to take. With the blink of an eye, they travel from Silicon Valley to the little house in suburban Los Angeles.  _

_ The sight of the broken window makes Michael’s stomach drop. Immediately, he thinks that the witches have finally come to break you out. Never does it cross his mind that you would be the one to think up this escape, not after the kiss that had been shared mere hours ago. Michael rushes through the door, calling out your name frantically.  _

_ “(Y/N)? (Y/N), are you okay?” The main level of the house is dark, the only noise coming from the next door neighbor’s dog responding to Michael’s calls. He climbs the stairs quickly, fumbling for the key to your room that sits in his pocket. It falls to the ground and he curses, not bothering to pick it back up and instead performing a quick incantation to open the door and undo the defensive magic that kept you from opening it. When he sees your empty room, his breath catches in his throat.  _

_ Right away, it’s easy to see that you were the one who broke out. The window has been busted from the inside out, the towel that you presumably used to keep from injuring yourself thrown carelessly on the floor. The sheets from your bed are tied together to form a rope, one end tied to the bed and the other end hanging out the window. When he touches it, he sees a vision of exactly what happened.  _

_ The vision is over in a flash, Michael having seen the specifics of your plan and the thought process behind it. He falls to his knees, a heartbroken yell piercing the air. For the first time since the death of his beloved Ms. Mead, he cries. You’re truly gone, your magic disappearing along with you. He can’t feel you anywhere, the trail of magic ending right outside of the window. Michael, who was able to tell that the kiss was sincere, is confused why you would choose to leave him when you were finally coming around.  _

_ He pulls himself off of the ground, sitting on the stripped bed. Pulling your pillow to his face, he deeply inhales your lingering scent. Michael can’t understand your reasoning for this decision, or many of the decisions you’ve made; he saved you from the witches, who had tried to keep you locked up and away from him. He’s provided for you, giving you everything you could want, but still you pushed him away as punishment for the deaths of those who had killed his own loved one. Michael asks for only one thing in return, which is your love. _

_ The tears have dried by now, Michael standing up slowly. He clenches his fists in anger, the furniture being flipped over and tossed against the walls. His eyes steel with determination. He will find you again, and you will be his. He’ll do anything to get you back, even if it means killing every living thing on the planet. _

You wake with a scream, sitting up in bed and sobbing. Myrtle, who had been keeping watch over you while the others went for a lesson in the swamp, envelops you in her arms. Her beautiful red hair tickles your face as she comforts you, gloved hands awkwardly patting your back. 

“Child, what has you so worked up?” Myrtle asks in her signature airy tone. 

“I saw Michael.” You whisper, leaning back so you can wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your shirt. 

“You were his prisoner for a month, of course he’s going to be the subject of your nightmares.” The older woman explains. 

“No, I  _ saw  _ Michael. It was almost like a vision of sorts, he arrived back at the house and saw that I escaped.”

“Where were you in this vision?” Myrtle asks with concern. 

“I was just watching, like I was some sort of invisible audience. I could see and hear everything, but nobody could see me.” 

“Almost like the Sight.” A voice says from behind you. Cordelia moves from her spot in the door, having returned from the lesson along with the rest of the girls. Joining you on the bed, she grasps your hand comfortingly. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’ve unlocked new powers in the face of such trauma. That is how I got my Sight, after all.” 

The entire coven is familiar with the story of Cordelia gaining Sight after being doused with sulfuric acid and going blind. It’s a story of legend, one that signified Cordelia’s rise to the role of Supreme. 

“But I didn’t touch anything belonging to him, I was just sleeping.” 

“Maybe you astral project, or maybe your subconscious has to be the one to receive the visions. You’re sure that this was a vision?” She asks. It’s not accusatory, she just wants to understand what you’ve experienced. 

“It wasn’t like a dream, it was so vivid. I was awake, and watching this scene unfold, but I wasn’t physically there.” You tell her, pulling your knees to your chest. Myrtle stands from the bed and allows Mallory to take her place, choosing instead to fix herself a drink. 

“The Sight can be a wondrous gift to possess, but it can also cause a great deal of pain for the one who wields it. We’ll teach you to control it, to make it so you only see these things when you want to see them.”

“He’s going to come after me,” You say with certainty. “I saw it. I could  _ feel  _ what he was thinking, and he’s not going to let me get away from him. He’ll kill everyone, just so that he can get me back.” 

“We won’t let him.” Mallory speaks up. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from him.” You smile at the young woman, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. She notices and stands, holding her hands out towards you. “Why don’t we get you some fresh air? The sunset is beautiful tonight.” 

She leads you outside, where you both sit in silence on the porch swing. Frogs croak in the swamp and cicadas call out from the trees in response, fireflies warming up to compete with the stars. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, savoring the feeling of being free once again. 

“You still love him.” It’s not a question that Mallory asks, it’s a statement. You glance at Mallory, who’s gently rocking the swing back and forth. 

“I wish I didn’t. I don’t want to, but I do.” You say quietly, hoping that your admission will be lost in the reeds surrounding the small cabin. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. He was your first love.”

“My first love who killed our sisters for a petty act of revenge.” 

“Still your first love.” She shrugs. “My parents weren’t the best people. They loved me, but they were religious zealots. God came first, and the rest of us followed in line. The first time I healed a dead bird, when I was five, they thought I was possessed by the Devil. They would lock me in my room and preach chapters of the Bible to me until their voices were hoarse. I got beat by my father with a belt if I was caught using magic. At one point they tried to get me exorcised.” She laughs dryly. 

“Holy shit, Mal, why haven’t you ever told me this?” You grab your hand in hers. 

“It’s never been relevant before. Miss Cordelia found me when I was fifteen, she came and took me away from my parents, brought me to Robichaux’s. I was so fucking happy when we left that house, I didn’t even say goodbye to them. The first month that I was in New Orleans, I cried myself to sleep every night.” 

“Why?” 

“Against all odds, I missed my parents. The entire time I was growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be away from them. When I first moved away, I wanted so badly to be back home with them. Even though they said and did horrible things to me, there were also good times. We’d go to the little drive-in theater in our town every Friday, the three of us laying in the bed of my dad’s truck and sharing popcorn. My mom and dad would waltz around the living room whenever a song they liked would come on the radio. My dad was the one who taught me how to do long division, and my mom taught me family recipes. We’d go on vacations and ice cream dates and camping trips. I loved them. Still do, even after all the terrible things they did to me.”

“Have you seen them since you moved to Robichaux’s?” You ask her. The sky has darkened from the pinks and purples of the setting sun to the inky black of the night, stars twinkling brightly. 

“Only once. It was too painful. We were all angry at each other for what had happened in the past, we were sad because we missed each other, and at that point we were basically strangers. I had grown from a teenager to a woman; they didn’t know me anymore. My point is, though, that people aren’t one thing. A person’s not all good or all evil. Everyone has good and bad qualities. As humans, we’ll always try to see the redeeming parts of a person. You’re not bad or flawed for still loving Michael.” You lay your head on Mallory’s shoulder, tucking your hands inside the pockets of your sweatshirt. 

“I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. I’m so scared about what’s going to happen next.” Her head rests on top of yours, the swing’s rocking ceasing as she moves her legs on top of the bench. 

“I can’t make any promises about what’s going to happen, but I can promise that we’re going to get through it together.” You both sit in silence, eventually being lulled to sleep from the sounds surrounding you. 


	4. Slipping Through My Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen months after the end of the world, and you’re somehow still alive. All of this newfound free time you have gives you plenty of time to ponder the question: who the hell are you?

Sleep is abruptly ripped away from you by the slamming of a door and a hand shaking your shoulder. You sit up, blearily blinking your eyes and attempting to discern where you are. Your neck aches painfully, and you realize that you must have fallen asleep leaning against Mallory. The witch beside you looks just as confused as you are, especially when faced with a grim Supreme. 

“Follow me, girls.” You and Mallory look at each other in bemusement, both reluctantly standing to head back into the little shack. Early sunlight starts to make its way over the horizon, a faint glow lighting the bayou ahead of you. It’s peaceful, almost too peaceful considering the events of the past few weeks. Your eyes burn after all the tears shed last night, and you’re mildly disappointed that your new Sight didn’t give you anymore glimpses of Michael. 

You know that you shouldn’t be sad that you didn’t see your former lover. You fought tooth-and-nail to escape him, and you should be happy that you’re now safe. But you can’t help the pangs of sadness that come with not seeing his sweet smile and his crystal blue eyes. When you first woke up moments ago, you had hoped that the hand waking you would belong to Michael. The visions of the rising Antichrist are shattered when you pass through the door and are blindsided. 

It’s a coordinated attack, you can tell from the multiple witches trying to pin you to the ground and Mallory’s screams as the same happens to her. The uneven wood digs into your back, making you grimace while your hands are held above your head and your legs grow heavy. Myrtle Snow smiles at you apologetically, red hair coming into view and gloved hands making sure you don’t go anywhere. 

“Miss Cordelia? What…?” You’re being assaulted, both mentally and physically, and are slow at processing your current situation as a result. The Supreme’s blonde hair is slightly mussed, and you realize that the head you had yanked in your fight to get away had been hers. 

“Your allegiances, while not your fault, are still fractured. On the one hand, your mind wants to be with us, your sisters. On the other, your heart is still with Michael. Even before Michael’s mind had been made up that he would get you back, we had known of his plans for the apocalypse. You and Mallory are both extremely powerful young women, so if you were to be buried underground with us to survive the initial blasts, your magic would act as a beacon to forces that want to do us harm.” 

“I don’t understand!” Mallory cries from next to you. You glance over at her to see tears tracking down her face as she shakes in terror. Your hand creeps across the floor and intertwines with hers, squeezing in reassurement. 

“Coco has already made the sacrifice, and had her mind wiped as a result. Her wealth will ensure that all of you safely reach the Outposts that are being built for survivors. Your powers, along with your memories, will lay dormant until the time is right. As a result, (Y/N), Michael will not be able to use your bond to his advantage, since you won’t have memories of him to even have a bond.” It’s your turn to start crying, shaking your head back and forth desperately. 

“No, please. You can’t do this! I don’t want to forget him, I can’t forget him!” You whimper. Cordelia smiles at you sympathetically, and you want to reach up and slap her across the face. 

“I promise that you’ll feel differently when you get your memories back. You’re going to be saving all of humanity with this sacrifice.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this. You’re taking who I am away from me against my will! I don’t care if this will save humanity, you shouldn’t be allowed to do this.” You hiss, eyes steeling in a glare. Before you can continue with your verbal torrent, Cordelia produces a translucent powder. You start struggling in one last attempt at an escape, but your efforts are fruitless. The powder gets blown into your face, and your coughing draws it into your lungs. Before you black out, there’s only one word on your lips. 

“ _ Michael. _ ”

* * *

_ 30 months later… _

The harsh knocking on your door acts as your alarm clock today, just as it has everyday for the past eighteen months. You jolt up, sheets tangled around your legs and bunched at the bottom of the bed. Running a hand through your messy hair, you listen as the Gray makes their way down the hallway, providing a wakeup call for your fellow occupants. Hell, better known as Outpost 3, had been your home for just over a year. The period of time directly before the bombs fell had been a flurry of events, involving gathering your few belongings and escaping with your boss to a private jet owned by Coco St. Pierre-Vanderbilt. 

_ “Coco! Coco wait!” Mr. Gallant yelled, hopping out of the convertible and jogging towards the jet. You stay behind to grab all of his things and help his grandmother, Evie, out of the car.  _

_ “Gallant? What the hell are you doing here?” Coco squawked.  _

_ “You said there were enough tickets for your family and your husband. That’s five tickets, and only two of them are being used.” He explained excitedly.  _

_ “Your assistant can’t come, Brock should be here at any moment!” You had huffed at being called Gallant’s ‘assistant.’ You were basically his sister, but there wasn’t any time to call the socialite out when Coco’s assistant screamed a warning. Runway workers were rapidly advancing in a hope to grab a spot and survive nuclear annihilation.  _

_ “Coco, I’m not leaving without (Y/N).” Gallant affirmed, making your heart warm at his effort to save your life. Coco thought for a moment, finally rolling her eyes and nodding.  _

_ “Fine, but we need to go like, NOW!”  _

The jet had barely made it to cruising altitude before the bombs dropped, and you couldn’t help but to thank your lucky stars every single day. Even living in the strictest, most-backwards living conditions was better than how you were living for a while before the end of the world. 

You didn’t know who you were. You had amnesia, whether it be from an injury or some sort of coping mechanism, but the facts remained the same; you had woken up in an apartment that you didn’t own, with no memory except for your name and a friend who could help you. That friend was Mr. Gallant, who quickly took you in and gave you so many things, the least of those being a job. He was a shoulder to cry on when you were frustrated about your lack of memories, your ‘boyfriend’ when weird guys were hitting on you, your therapist when you needed to vent, and your best friend. Technically being his assistant, you had been expecting to be a Gray along with Coco’s assistant, Mallory. To your shock, your name was on a list guaranteeing that you receive a spot on the highest tier of this new society. The purple dress you slip on as you get ready acts as a reminder that you’re probably the luckiest person left alive. 

“Welcome to another beautiful day underground.” Gallant greets you with a snicker when you enter the dining room, handing you a glass of water and patting the chair next to you. Somehow, even after all this time, you had still managed to remain best friends with the man. 

“Did I hear something about horseback riding on the schedule today?” You joke, earning a few laughs from the Purples scattered through the room. 

“I mean this is the nicest way, (Y/N), but you look like shit.”

“Thank you, it’s this new beauty routine I’m trying.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. Gallant sighs, grabbing your hand in his. 

“Did you have the dream again?” ‘The dream,’ or what should be known as dreams, have plagued you since the day you woke up in the unfamiliar apartment in the middle of Los Angeles. Sometimes they involved beautiful women, all dressed in black and smiling at you. Other times there was a swamp, the muggy air enveloping your subconscious and chirping echoing from within the ecosystem. There were also a few dreams that left you crying and shaking, dreams filled with screaming, blood, and gunfire. The most common dreams, though, all revolved around a man. 

You dreamed of this man almost every time you fell asleep, yet you couldn’t ever clearly see his face. You knew that he was tall and had beautiful blond curls that tickled your face when he leaned down to kiss you. You were always touching this man in some way or another, usually just holding hands as you relive what you assume are your lost memories. Sometimes, his face would clear just long enough for you to see his haunting eyes, which are the clearest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. You get so lost in reminiscing on your dream that you don’t realize you haven’t yet answered Gallant until he calls your name again. 

“Of course, I always do.” You respond. 

“Which one was it? The gun one?”

“It was the one with the man.” Gallant knew about all your dreams, and had listened to you attempt to dissect them for countless hours. 

“I love your hot mystery man.” He says playfully, grinning. 

“Apparently I did, too. Too bad I don’t know who he actually is.” The gelatinous cubes, your only source of nutrition for over a year, lay untouched on your respective plates. 

“You’ve been having the dream with your blue-eyed honey a lot more often, lately. Maybe that means something?” He suggests, picking up his fork and absently spinning it in his hand. You shrug, considering it. 

“Maybe. Or maybe-” The shrill sound of an alarm startles you, and your hands clap against your ears for protection. Ms. Mead walks quickly to the dining room, staring at the gathered survivors. 

“Security breach. Back to your rooms, all of you.” She says sternly, watching as everyone stands immediately. You follow the herd, but your thoughts remain on what Ms. Mead just said. A security breach? For the duration of your time here, nothing had ever gotten through the walls surrounding the Outpost. You don’t know whether to be intrigued or scared at this. 

“Think it’s cannibals?” Gallant whispers into your ear, snapping his teeth to make you jump. 

“Don’t be so morbid, Gal, Jesus.” You mutter. He wants to retort, but you’re all shepherded to your rooms and given strict orders to remain there until further instruction. 

The hours until you’re summoned out pass slowly, and you find yourself trying to sleep in order to pass the time. You’re also hoping that you see those familiar blue eyes again, but are disheartened when you’re told to gather in the library before you can dream. Coco’s already sitting next to Gallant, talking his ear off about god-knows-what, and Evie sits on his other side. You take the only open seat left, next to Timothy. He smiles at you when you join him, Emily holding holding his hand tightly. 

“Any clue what this is about?” You ask. 

“Maybe they’re finally gonna take us out.” Emily suggests, wiggling her eyebrows to make you both giggle. 

“We should be so lucky.” Your banter is interrupted when Ms. Venable, the leader of the Outpost, enters the room. She stands at the head of the room, eyes cast towards the door the entire time. When she still hasn’t spoken in two minutes, you sigh and start picking at your nails to give yourself something to do. Heels clacking against the floor fill the room, but you assume it’s The Hand joining the group after finishing their rounds. You only look up when Timothy nudges you slightly. 

Immediately, your eyes widen at the sight you’re faced with. It’s not The Hand. Instead, a tall man, dressed to the nines, with long blond hair and startling blue eyes, commands the room with only his presence. Everybody stares at him in varying degrees of lust and attraction, but you stare at him for a different reason; you know this man. You’re not sure how, or from where, but you know him. 

“My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative.”


	5. In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious Langdon makes his intentions clear, causing panic to ripple throughout the residents of Outpost 3. Interviews are to be conducted, and you’re planning on turning the interviewer into the interviewee in order to figure out if he’s a missing link to your past.

When Langdon’s eyes meet yours, you’re expecting them to widen in recognition. Surely this man, whom your subconscious recognized at once, would be sure to have some sort of reaction to seeing you? You can barely hide your disappointment when he looks away just as quickly as he looked at you. 

“I won’t sugarcoat the situation: humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His voice lilts, smirking at the fear on everyone’s faces. He continues on, talking about the other compounds being overrun. 

“Well, what happened to the people inside?” Timothy asks from beside you. Langdon takes his time focusing his attention on Timothy, who cowers in his seat. 

“Massacred.” He says nonchalantly, almost as if he was asked what team won the Super Bowl. “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.” 

“Almost all?” You don’t realize you’re the one that asked this until Langdon looks at you. His eyes twinkle, exactly the same way that the eyes in your dreams do whenever you say something he finds amusing. 

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe-The Sanctuary.” 

“The Sanctuary?” Coco retorts, rolling her eyes. 

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

“Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren’t we given them?” Ms. Mead asks. 

“That’s classified.” He says sharply, holding up a hand dismissively. “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will...survive, so the people populating it will survive, so  _ humanity  _ will survive.” 

“Who are the people who are populating it?” Andre takes a break from his leering to ask. 

“Also classified.” Langdon rolls his eyes before glaring at Andre. Langdon elaborates on the reason why he was sent to the Outpost: to conduct a series of interviews that will determine who is ‘worthy’ of making their way to The Sanctuary and who isn’t. 

“What is this,  _ The Hunger Games _ ? This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.” Coco argues, and you can see from her expression that she thinks she’s so clever with her ‘comeback.’ 

“You don’t have to sit for questioning.” You stifle a chuckle at just how annoyed Langdon looks. 

“What happens if we choose not to?” Andre asks. 

“Then you say here and  _ die _ .” Everyone’s silent for a moment, digesting the information that Langdon’s just provided. 

“I volunteer to go first.” Gallant speaks up, raising his hand eagerly. You look at him from across the room in confusion, and he shrugs at you. 

“While I admire your willingness to get your Cooperation over with, I have already determined the order in which I shall conduct the interviews.” Everybody waits, ready to hear the order in which your fates will be decided. Instead, he pulls out a bottle of pills, which he then explains can be used by those who don’t make the cut so they can die peacefully instead of being eaten alive by cannibals. 

“I look forward to meeting  _ each _ and  _ every _ one of you.” He makes eye contact with you once again, only looking away to make his departure. The spell of silence placed upon the room is suddenly broken with the closing of the doors behind Langdon, and everybody breaks out into excited chatter. 

Like every conversation involving multiple Outpost residents, it eventually turns into an argument, but you can’t stop thinking about the mystery that surrounds Langdon. 

Who is he? Why does something in you seem to know him? Does he know you, too? The sound of Ms. Venable’s cane hitting the floor is the wordless command that curfew’s coming up, and Timothy drags you up with he and Emily so you don’t get in trouble. 

“Are you okay? You were spaced out there for a while.” He remarks. 

“Yeah, I was just...thinking.” 

“About your interview? Yeah, I’m pretty nervous too.” Emily smiles. You’re not nervous about the interview; in fact, you had forgotten about it completely, but you nod gratefully. 

“It’ll all be okay, I’m sure. See you guys tomorrow?” From the way they’re both looking at each other, you can only assume that tonight is reserved for their one kiss of the week. You break away from the group when you see the platinum-blond head of your best friend a few feet away, already heading towards his room. 

“Gal!” He turns around to look at you, purple-tinted sunglasses sliding down his nose. He grabs your hand, and you immediately know where you’re going.

There’s a secret hallways that only the Grays know about, and about a month into your stay Mallory showed you where it was so that you could hang out with her. As ‘assistants’ in the old world, you two had become rather close in the short amount of time that you each had your jobs. Since Grays were typically not permitted to speak to Purples, the only way you could see her without having to ask her to fetch you something is in secret. Gallant had eventually caught you going to meet Mallory, and the two of you decided to make this hallway your rendezvous spot as well. Although you get to see Gallant much more than Mallory, there’s still some things that can only be talked about when you’re absolutely sure that there’s no one listening. 

“Okay, Langdon?” You throw out, settling on the cool cement ground next to Gallant. 

“I know! Total hottie, right? I was getting serious gay-vibes off of him, too!” That’s not what you were planning on talking about, but leave it to Gal to use his ‘gaydar’ on everyone and everything. 

“No, not that.” 

“You didn’t think he was the finest piece of ass you’ve seen in the eighteen months we’ve been stuck down here?” He says in disbelief, clutching your arm as if hearing that hurts his very soul. 

“No! I mean, yeah he’s kind of attractive, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Alright, spill the tea then.” He removes his sunglasses, fiddling with them before placing them on the outside of his shirt. 

“You’re going to think that I’ve gone crazy, but just hear me out. I think...Langdon’s the man in my dreams.”

“Honey, he’s the man of all of our dreams.” You were expecting him to sigh, call you delusional or tell you that these dreams are getting to you more than he thought they were. He obviously has forgotten about the dreams that you’ve had nearly every night for almost three years, so wrapped up in his infatuation for the newest temporary resident. 

“Gallant. I mean, he’s the guy I’ve been seeing in my dreams for as long as you’ve known me.” His face grows serious, but you’re just glad you’ve finally gotten through to him. 

“Oh shit.” You giggle, rolling your eyes and playfully pushing him.

“Is that all you have to say about this?” 

“Do you think it’s seriously him? How do you know?”

“His eyes. He looked kind of familiar before that, but when he looked at me I just...I’ve seen those eyes before. Those are the ones I see every night, I’m sure of it.” 

“So what are you gonna do about it?” 

You shrug. “Ask him, I guess?”

Gallant snorts. “‘Hey there, did you happen to know me before I lost all my memories?’” You laugh at his impression of you, his voice going up way farther than your own. 

“Maybe not that outright, but I’ll have to mention it! If he knew me back then, maybe something he says can help me remember who I was before you found me.”

“Go for it, then. Really, what do you have to lose at this point?”

“(Y/N)!” A voice hisses, and you both startle at the unexpected intruder. Thankfully, it’s only Mallory, who looks just as scared as you feel right now. “Langdon wants to see you for your interview, Venable sent me to come and get you.” 

You look at Gallant with wide eyes, but he returns it with an excited glint in his eyes. “Oh my God, now’s your chance! You’ve got this, you’re gonna kill that interview.” 

“I wish he would have just let you go first.” You complain, standing up from your position on the floor. 

“Oh, I’d much rather prefer it to be this way. The drama! The intrigue! I live for this shit!” After noticing the terrified look on your face, he pulls you into a hug. “Hey, you’re gonna be okay. It’s just an interview, that’s all. And if he ends up not knowing you, just tell him that it was an honest mistake.” 

“(Y/N).” Mallory calls from behind you. Gallant nods and gives you a thumbs up before you disappear around the corner with the Gray. 

You follow her in silence, not wanting to get her in trouble like the first time Venable caught you talking to her when she was supposed to be working. She pulls open the large doors to the office that once belonged to Ms. Venable, and you step inside. The doors close before you can get the chance to thank her, leaving you alone in the office with Langdon. 

The man in question is already seated at the desk, looking over a manilla file filled with information that you presume is about you. He only glances up for a moment, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand. Taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk, you wait for him to speak. Instead, he just stares at you, and you smile nervously back at him. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking into your very soul, and you find yourself glancing around the room in a desperate attempt to not feel his eyes on you anymore. 

“I won’t be telling you the criteria I’m using to grade you. Things you may feel are helpful may be hurtful, things you may feel will compel rejection may be exactly what I’m looking for. If you hedge, I will know. If you lie, I will know. And if you try to trick me, I will know, and this interview will be over. Are we clear?” He doesn’t raise his voice once, but that somehow makes it even more terrifying than it already is. 

“Yes, Mr. Langdon.” You nod. 

“Your file seems to be very...incomplete.” He starts, leaning back in his chair and looking at you. “Why?”

“I don’t know who I am, really. About three years ago, I woke up in an apartment that I didn’t recognize, with no memory of anything prior to that except for my name and the name of a friend.” 

“Mr...Gallant.” He says with disdain. 

“Yes. He took me in, gave me a job, basically helped me with anything and everything.” 

“And you still don’t remember anything about your life prior to waking up in that apartment?”

“No. I’ve tried everything. Hypnotherapy, holistic remedies, just staring at a wall hoping I can remember something. None of it’s worked.” Your eyes track him as he stands from his chair, moving to sit on the desk so he can be closer to you. 

“Tell me about your dreams.” 

“My what?” 

“Your dreams, the ones that you’ve been having consistently since you can remember?” 

“H-how do you know about that?” He only smirks, tilting his head towards you. 

“Answer the question, Ms. (Y/L/N).” 

“Well, there’s three or so that are recurring, and then one major one that I usually have every night. Sometimes it’s these women, all dressed in black. I can’t see their faces, but I’m not scared of them; in fact, it feels like they might have been my family? There’s another one where I’m in a swamp, and so that leads me to believe I spent a lot of time in Louisiana. The other one is...scarier. I don’t ever actually see anything in that one, it’s all just blurry, but someone’s shooting a gun. People are screaming and crying, and I think I was hiding somewhere? I can’t be sure though.” 

“And what about the last dream?” You blush, looking down at your hands instead of at Langdon’s face. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“All information may be pertinent to my final decision, regardless of whether you think it’s stupid or not.”

“Well...there’s a man. He has these beautiful blond curls, and we’re always touching each other in these dreams. Not like, in a sexual way, but we’re usually holding hands. I’ve never seen his face before, but sometimes I can just see a flash of his eyes. They’re shockingly blue, and the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” 

Langdon stares at you for a long moment, and you flinch when his hand comes up to cup your face. The cool metal of his rings bites at your skin, and he grips your jaw to make you look up at him. 

“Tell me who you are.” His voice is just barely above a whisper, and you find yourself straining to hear what he says. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yes you do. Somewhere, deep inside that pretty little head of yours, your true identity is just itching to reveal itself.” 

“I want to leave.” 

“Not until you remember who you are.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Your anger is only rising at this man, who acts like he knows everything when he truly knows nothing. You shouldn’t lash out, since it could very well spell the end for you, but you’re too pissed off to care right now. “What, do you know who I am, Langdon? Did you meet me before I lost my memory?” 

He smirks at you, moving his face closer to yours. The atmosphere is tense, and some time passes before he speaks again.

“It’s getting late. We’ll continue this interview tomorrow.” The doors open without anybody behind them, and Langdon gracefully gets off of the desk, sitting back down in his seat like nothing happened.

You shakily stand up, making your way to the door quickly so that he doesn’t call you back in. The doors start to close again after you’ve exited, and you take a chance and look behind your shoulder. Langdon’s still staring at you, those damn blue eyes illuminated by the light of the fire.  _ He definitely knows something _ , you think, and  _ I’m going to find out what it is.  _


	6. All I've Ever Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your interview, you find that you can’t stop thinking about Langdon. Imagine your surprise when he can’t stop thinking about you either, turning up unexpectedly in your bedroom.

If it weren’t for Ms. Venable’s stupid curfew rule, you would run immediately to find Gallant so he could help you dissect what just happened. Instead, you’re escorted back to your room by a Gray, who locks the door behind you so you can’t get out. The doors didn’t originally lock from the outside, but after every single resident had gotten caught sneaking out within the first month, Ms. Venable had quickly made sure that sneaking out wouldn’t be a problem anymore. As you start getting ready for bed, you can’t stop thinking about your interview with Langdon. 

You know that you should be scared of him; that’s the aura that he puts out to all of the residents of the Outpost, after all. You, however, can’t help but to be intrigued by him. Where the ice cold hue of his eyes sends shivers down other people’s spines, you feel comfort when he looks at you. While his speech about leaving you to die if you lied would undoubtedly intimidate everyone else, something in you took it as a joke. If you had a sneaking suspicion that you used to know him before you lost your memory, the interview basically confirmed that he absolutely knows you. Really, it’s not at all shocking when you fall asleep an hour later and immediately dream of the blond man. Only this time, you can actually see his face. 

_ “Show me again!” You demand excitedly, making the man in front of you chuckle. His hands are on either side of your head, blocking you in against the rough bark of the tree you’re leaning against. The sun’s just starting to set, and the golden light makes his hair glow.  _

_ “You’re the only person I have ever met who isn’t repulsed by this.” He comments. You respond with a shrug and a cheeky smile, kissing him quickly.  _

_ “How could I be? It’s a part of you, nothing about you could scare me.” He rolls his eyes, but the blush painting his cheeks tells you he feels differently.  _

_ “Alright, but after this you show me what I want.” Your eyes widen before you realize what he really means.  _

_ “There’s not an actual Demonomicon, it’s from a movie! I was joking!” You giggle.  _

_ “Mmmhmm, I bet that’s what Cordelia told you to say.” He smirks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”  _

_ He knows that you’re telling the truth, can sense it, but he still likes to tease you.  _

_ “Yeah, you’ll wear me down into making you watch  _ Evil Dead  _ again so you can pay attention instead of feeling me up the entire time.”  _

_ “Can you blame me? How do you expect me to sit down next to you for two whole hours and not keep my hands to myself?” He’s stalling, you know; he still worries that showing you will make you run off screaming and demand to never see him again.  _

_ You smile widely at him, letting him know that you’re still waiting. Sighing deeply, he nods before looking down at the ground and closing his eyes.  _

_ “Don’t get scared.” You caress his cheek, smiling slightly when he leans against your hand.  _

_ “I could never be scared of you.” You reassure him. After a long moment, he looks up and you laugh in excitement.  _

_ His face, normally sunkissed, is pure white and marred with cracks. Although he has a chiseled jaw and cheekbones, they’re almost gaunt in this form. He stares at you, once-blue eyes now pitch black. Even with the lack of color in them, you can still see how he looks at you adoringly.  _

_ “You’re beautiful.” You whisper in awe, kissing him deeply. The demon growls from deep inside his chest, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him.  _

Sitting up in bed, your chest heaves as you attempt to catch your breath. You run a hand through your hair, trying to dissect what you just woke up from. First things first, that was definitely Langdon in your dream. In the two years that you’ve been dreaming about the blond man, you’ve never once seen his face. Was it just a coincidence that tonight was the first time you actually got to see his facial features, or was something in your subconscious triggered at the arrival of this man? If that was a memory, what the fuck was up with Langdon’s face? How was he able to make himself look like that?

After reaching over to light the candle that sits on your nightstand, you have to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a scream. Langdon sits in the chair that normally faces your small bookshelf, staring at you intensely. He’s still dressed in the same clothes he wore earlier, legs crossed like he’s casually enjoying a cup of coffee. He smirks at your fear, nostrils flaring like he can smell how scared you are. 

“What the-how are you even in here? Venable locks all of our doors.” It’s probably not the best question to start with, but you’re still half-asleep and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. 

Langdon stands, gracefully crossing the room and settling on the edge of the bed. You lean further back against the headboard, pulling the blankets close to your chest. It’s silent, and you’re not sure what Langdon’s waiting for. 

“I have my ways, (Y/N).”

“She gave you a key?” Again, not the best question to ask. The patronizing half-smile that he gives you lets you know that he most likely doesn’t have a key, which is a little alarming. 

“Tell me about your dream.” He knows your dream, you’re sure, and you yawn in annoyance.

“You know what that dream was about.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he chuckles. 

“Indulge me.” 

“Fine.” You sigh, rolling your eyes and settling back against the pillows. “That was you.” 

He nods, confirming what you already knew.

“We were...up against a tree. I asked you to show me something, and you looked down. When you looked up again, your face was white and had cracks in it, almost like it was marble. Your eyes were completely black, too.” 

“Were you scared?” His melodic voice floats towards you. 

“No.” There’s no hesitation, and that mildly shocks you. “I wasn’t scared.” 

A real smile spreads across his face, teeth glinting from the low light of the candle. It looks just like the smile in your dream, yet somehow even more beautiful and radiant. 

“I knew you wouldn’t be.”

“Langdon?” He hums, letting you know you’re permitted to ask your question. “Have you been the one giving me those dreams?”

“Just the one you had tonight. I’m not responsible for your other dreams, though. That is all you.” 

“Why give me this one, then?” 

“I needed to make sure that you weren’t lying to me.” He places his hand on top of yours, but you don’t pull away. It feels comforting, in a way. 

“Lying to you about what?” 

“Lying about not remembering me. I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised; Cordelia was always one for taking extreme measures against me.” You gasp, eyes lighting up. 

“You do know who I am!” He nods, and you laugh triumphantly. “So? Who was I? Help me remember!”

“You are somebody very special to me, (Y/N).” He stands from the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. 

“That’s it?” 

“For now, yes.” You frown, grabbing his arm. 

“You don’t just get to come in here, plant dreams in my head, tell me that you know who I was before I lost my memory, and then decide to leave! I want answers; I  _ deserve  _ answers!” Hot tears of anger prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t really care about looking weak right now. Who is he to withhold this information from you?

“I know that you do, and you will get your answers. I just need you to wait for another day or two. Can you do that for me?” You don’t want to, but you find yourself reluctantly nodding. “Good, thank you.” 

“You promise that you’ll tell me after that?” 

“You have my word.” He gently pries your fingers off of his arm, moving to gently grab your face in his hands. “I don’t want you to be mad at me for what I’m about to do.”

“What are you about to do?” You ask, being drawn in by the various shades of blue that make up Langdon’s eyes. It’s almost hypnotizing, and soon you find that you can’t look away from him. 

“When I leave, you’re going to fall right back asleep. You’ll wake up tomorrow and you won’t remember that this encounter happened, just that you had a very odd dream that you can’t recall. Can you repeat that back for me, angel?” 

“I’ll fall asleep when you leave, and tomorrow I won’t remember that this happened, just that I had a very odd dream that I can’t recall.” Your voice sounds detached from your body, like it’s not you that’s actually speaking the words coming out of your mouth. Nevertheless, the words sink into your subconscious, filing themselves away next to the powder that Cordelia used on you years ago. 

“I love you, (Y/N).” He disappears in a split-second, and your body goes limp and falls back against the mattress like he requested. 

* * *

The entire day, you can barely stay invested in the conversations that are happening around you. It takes Coco shoving you against a wall for you to have any sort of reaction, and even then it’s just mild annoyance instead of the angry yell you would usually have reserved for her. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Gallant asks at dinner, looking far-more disheveled than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

“Just a really weird dream that I can’t quite remember, it all feels hazy. What the hell is wrong with you?” You fire back. 

Gallant proceeds to tell you the events of last night, which you discover was far more fucked up than yours. Even though your interview lasted past curfew, Gallant still got called in for his. Afterwards, a man in a rubber suit that Gallant swears was Langdon showed up at his room and gave him “the best dicking down” of his life. An odd bolt of jealousy hits you when he recounts how the Cooperative official fucked him, but it’s quickly swept away when he tells you that his Nana snitched on him to Venable, who proceeded to whip him until he was bleeding. 

“Oh my God, Gal! I’m so sorry.” You coo, running a hand through his hair to comfort him. “How long did she whip you for?” 

“Like fifteen minutes but, get this. Langdon showed up and told her to leave.” 

“And she listened to him?” Gallant snorts. 

“She kind of has to, y’know? I think he’s pretty high up on the Cooperative’s ladder. Anyways, it didn’t go at all like I had expected it would.”

“He didn’t…?” You trail off, cheeks flushing red at the mere thought of the sinful things that the two could have done. 

“No! And I was all chained up and everything, which you know I love. Instead, he insults me, tells me that he wasn’t the one who fucked me and that he wouldn’t fuck me even if I were the last man on Earth.” 

“You almost are.” You point out with a smirk. 

“Shut up, he said that shit too and it wasn’t funny then, either.” You giggle, taking his hand in yours. 

“Are you gonna talk to Evie?” Gallant sighs, shrugging. 

“I know that I should, but I just...she’s always been like this. I’m the family disappointment. I was never the perfect gay for her, did too many drugs, my first salons failed. I’m sure she’s wanted me dead for a while, now was just the perfect chance for her.” You pout at hearing this, scooting your chair closer to his. 

“Gal, no! She’s your grandma, she still loves you! Besides, you got her the…” You trail off when you hear a commotion outside of the dining room, both you and Gallant craning your necks in an attempt to see what’s going on. 

Andre comes crashing into the room, eyes wide and a sick grin on his face. He whispers something to Dinah, his mother, before pulling her up and starting to tug her along with him. 

“Andre! What’s going on?” 

“Timothy and Emily finally said ‘fuck it’ and decided to fuck. Venable caught them and now she’s gonna kill them!” They run out of the room together, leaving you with your eyes wide and your mouth hanging open. 

Besides Gallant, Timothy and Emily are your closest friends here. You’ve seen them struggle with restraining themselves, holding back to a single kiss a week so as not to break Ms. Venable’s rules. In all honesty, you’re a little shocked they didn’t have sex sooner. There’s no time to be impressed with how long they held out, as some sort of reflex kicks on inside you and you decide that you have to go and save them. Sliding your chair back, you shoot Gallant an apologetic look as you stand. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back. I need to stop this, though.” He nods, seeing the worry on your face. 

“Go, I’ll be fine. Besides, I can go and talk to my Nana while you’re saving the day.” With that, you’re out the door like a bullet. You pick your dress up in your hands, thankful that you wore flats today as you sprint down the hallway towards the commotion. 

A few of your fellow residents are posted around the corner from where Timothy and Emily are both yelling, a mixture of Purples and Grays all ready for this sick entertainment. You shove past them, heart beating out of your chest when you can finally see through the open door. Both of them are stripped down to their undergarments, forced to their knees while Venable sneers above them. They’re crying, pleading with her to not kill them, that they know she’s been making up rules and that she was killing them for no reason. It doesn’t really surprise you that the evil woman made her own rules, but you push that thought to the side.

“Stop! Don’t kill them, please!” You run into the sterile white room that already reeks of death, stomach clenching when you realize that this is where they killed Stu. Venable looks at you, glowering. 

“Ms. (Y/L/N), please leave. This doesn’t concern you.” She grits out. 

“You can’t kill them!” She laughs harshly, and you freeze when Ms. Mead points the gun at you.

“And why should I allow you to tell me what to do in my Outpost? Timothy and Emily broke the rules, both knowing fully well what the punishment is.”

“Kill me instead.” You say suddenly, and Emily lets out a cry behind you. 

“Very chivalrous of you.” She mocks. 

“I’m being serious. They were both selected because of their genetic material, they’re meant to help create the New World. I’m nobody, I just got lucky enough to have my name on some list.” Ms. Venable’s dark lips purse as she ponders the case you’ve just made. She raises her eyebrows, a silent challenge that you return with a defiant stare. 

“Very well then. Up, you two.” She barks at your friends. They scramble to their feet when Ms. Mead points the gun at them again, gesturing for them to listen to Venable. 

The woman uses her cane to shove you harshly in the back, forcing you to your knees in front of her. Timothy has his arms wrapped around an inconsolable Emily, and you force a soft smile towards him and nod. You turn back to look at Venable, smirking at the situation. She thinks she’s won when, in reality, you have. You don’t fear death; the thought of living life as a stranger, something you’ve done for years, is far more terrifying than the end. Besides, a bullet in your skull also means you escape these Draconian rules you’ve had to live under since the end of the world. For you, death is a solace that you so desperately seek. 

“Ms. Mead.” She commands, and you stare right down the barrel of the gun. 

Before she even gets a chance to cock the weapon back, Timothy lunges for it with a scream. It falls to the floor, and he snatches it up quickly, pointing it at Venable and shooting. Unfortunately, Ms. Mead jumps in front of her, using her own body as a shield. The bullet strikes her in the abdomen, and she cups her hand around the wound before stumbling out of the room and down the hallway. Venable’s too shocked to actually do anything, so the Hand pistol-whips Timothy with their own gun. 

“Stop this right now!” A deep voice commands, and your eyes widen when Langdon storms into the room. “Release them, Ms. Venable.” 

“These two broke the rules. Luckily for them, (Y/N)  _ so kindly _ volunteered her life instead. You can take the two, but (Y/N) will still be punished for the events that have occured today.” Langdon smiles patronizingly, tilting his head to the side. 

“None of the three will be dying today, Ms. Venable.” 

“You do not tell me what to do. I run this Outpost, Mr. Langdon.” They both stare at each other, a silent power grab taking place as Langdon gets impossibly close to Venable. 

“And  _ I _ outrank you. Therefore, this is my Outpost.” He turns to look at the three of you huddled together, eyes focusing right on you. “Come, you three.”

You and Emily both help a dazed Timothy up, stumbling out of the room before Langdon can change his mind. Immediately after you’re out of Venable’s sight, Emily envelops you in a crushing hug.

“That was so stupid, why would you do that?” She cries out, burying her head in your shoulder before pulling you back to look at you. “Never mind, I’m just glad we’re all okay. Thank you.” 

“Emily.” Michael speaks lowly, and you both turn to look at him. “Take Timothy to the library, I believe there’s first aid supplies and a few knowledgeable Grays there.” 

She nods, slinging one of Timothy’s arms around her shoulders and helping him through the hallway and down the stairs. You watch until long after they’re both gone.

“She’s right, you know.” Michael’s cool voice sounds, and you turn around to face him. 

“About?”

“That what you did was extremely stupid.” You roll your eyes, scowling in his direction. 

“Why do you care who lives and who dies, Langdon? Some of us are gonna die anyways, why not make it easier on yourself and let Venable take us out one by one?” His ever-present smirk falls off of his face, and his eyes grow cold. 

“Because, (Y/N), I am the only one who decides what happens to the occupants of this Outpost. Not Venable, not Ms. Mead, not even the petty bickering of your fellow Purples as they talk about what it would be like to slit someone’s throat. I decide what happens to you, and I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself because you have a fucking hero complex.” He stares you down, backing you against the wall until he pins you there with the weight of his body. 

“And what’s going to happen to me, Langdon?” Your faces are mere centimeters away from each other, and you can feel his hot breath against your cheeks as his eyes wrack over your face. 

“The second part of your interview shall commence in an hour. You will be at my office, and you will be punctual.” With that, he pushes away from you and walks down the hallway, leaving your head spinning as you lean back against the wall. 


	7. Full Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for your second interview with Langdon, and luckily for you, you’re finally going to get some answers.

There’s a certain phenomena that occurs whenever thunderstorms roll into an area. Of course, there aren’t any thunderstorms anymore, and if there were, the rain is probably acid or something. When there used to be thunderstorms, though, a person could tell almost before the ominous clouds even formed. The electricity that builds and builds in the air reaches a point where it’s a palpable feeling, one that raises the hair on your arms and leaves you feeling nervous towards something that you can’t yet see. You have an odd sense of deja vu right now, but there’s no thunderclouds around. 

The adrenaline that came from volunteering to sacrifice yourself still hasn’t worn off, leaving you jittery and restless. Knowing that you have to meet with Langdon in a matter of minutes makes it basically impossible for you to sit still, so you’ve been pacing back and forth down the hallway in front of Langdon’s office for an hour. Thirty minutes into your nervous pacing, the doors had burst open and Mallory ran out of the office, eyes wide and body shaking. 

“Mallory, what’s wrong?” You had asked, grabbing your friend by her shoulders as the doors closed behind her. 

“I shot fire and Langdon’s a demon!” Mallory stuttered out before stumbling away and leaving. You wanted to ask her more questions, but the wild look in her eyes had you wondering if she was just finally cracking under the pressure.

Even when there was yet another perimeter breach, Venable and the Hand were too preoccupied with whatever had gotten past the gates to worry about chasing residents to their rooms. After eighteen months of absolute monotony, the past two eventful days have left your head slightly spinning. Finally, the large sliding doors open themselves. You’re not sure if it’s because Langdon trusted that you would be here at the appointed time or if he knew you were outside for the past hour, but you enter anyways. 

He’s not sitting at the desk like he was yesterday. Instead, Langdon’s standing in front of the fireplace, and you watch momentarily as the shadows of the flames make his face look even more severe than it already is. He doesn’t turn around when you start to approach him, but his posture does change as your shoes click against the floor. 

“I am glad to see that you made it here without attempting to save the day again.” Langdon quips, his large rings clacking against each other as he clasps his hands behind his back. 

“Yeah, well, couldn’t find anyone in need of saving.” You fire back, standing a few feet away from him. “Thank you, for stepping in earlier.” 

He’s silent for a few moments, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to think of something to say or if he just enjoys making you squirm. Probably the latter. Eventually he turns towards you, those cold blue eyes making all of your tensions melt away. 

“It was nothing, truly. It seems that Venable has been creating her own rules, and though I am certainly not opposed to people being killed, I would prefer that there be a reason behind said killing.” He says nonchalantly.

“How did Timothy and Emily find out that she was making rules up?” Langdon’s lips twitch in a mixture of amusement and disdain. 

“Those two have a penchant for searching through things that do not belong to them.” A smile fights its way onto your face at the knowledge that they must have gone through Langdon’s personal items. 

“Can you blame them, though?” Langdon stares at you, and you’re more than surprised at the appreciation in his eyes. 

“No, I suppose I cannot.” He extends an arm towards the chairs in the middle of the room, both facing each other. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“I already had my rations for the day.” You explain before taking a seat in the armchair. 

“Hmm, but I was not offering you your rations.” 

Langdon turns around with a smirk, holding two cups of steaming tea. Your eyes widen in delight when the scent of your favorite tea hits your nose. He hands you the cup, your hands warming from the heat transfer. You can’t help but to inhale deeply, closing your eyes and momentarily letting nostalgia take over. The first few weeks after you woke up with no memory, Gallant tried anything to cheer you up and make you feel better. He had wanted you to try a new tea that he picked up and thought you would like. To the shock and surprise of both of you, the smell was extremely familiar. It brought tears to your eyes for the memories that you didn’t have, but the tea was desperately trying to conjure up for you. 

“I apologize for the lack of choices, I hope that this is sufficient.” He watches you closely as you take a sip, smiling at the familiar taste. 

“This was my favorite tea before the blast.”

“Remind me,” Langdon takes a seat opposite you, placing his own cup to the side before he even takes a sip. “Where had we left off last night?”

The smile falls off of your face as Langdon gets down to business. 

“You were telling me that I know who I really am, and I was asking you if you knew who I was before I lost my memory.”

“And have you discovered who you truly are?” He asks.

“No.” You mutter angrily, looking down at the liquid moving in your cup. 

“Would you like help?” You sit up straight before leaning forward in your chair, intrigued.

“You can help me? How?” 

Langdon holds his hand up, a small vial suddenly appearing within his grasp. It’s filled with some sort of silvery powder, and it sparkles intoxicatingly at you as you study it. The mere sight of it is tantalizing, even though there’s a part of you that scolds you, telling you that there’s no possible way that this powder can help you.

“What is that?” You ask. 

“The key to unlocking your memories.” He tosses it from hand to hand, and you’re sure he’s deliberately teasing you. “That is, if you would like to.” 

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I want to.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

Langdon chuckles before falling to his knees in front of you. Enraptured, you watch as he uncaps the vial and pours the powder into the palm of his hand. He draws a foreign symbol into the substance before reaching with his free hand and drawing what you assume is the same symbol on your forehead. He smiles at you, reassuring you when he senses your sudden nerves. 

“I’ll be right here, don’t worry. Are you ready?” You nod, gripping his free hand tightly. 

“Do it.” With that, Langdon blows the powder into your face.

You gasp as the powder invades your lungs, coughing and hacking in an attempt to remove the foreign substance from your body. Your eyes go wide and your body stiffens as your mind is assaulted with images, before you fall into Langdon’s arms. 

The scenes play before your eyes like a movie. Suddenly you can see the faces that have been hidden from you for years, names being matched and relationships being reformed. The white house surrounded by cast iron gates is Ms. Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Women, otherwise known as your second home. You remember your friends: Madison Montgomery, the so-called ‘bitchy’ former movie star who was actually just in need of love and support. The kind young woman with the honey hair and soulful eyes, also known as Zoe Benson. Queenie and Nan, Misty and Mallory, all of them come back to the forefront of your memory. 

With these memories comes the memory of the woman who got you into this predicament in the first place. You can see Cordelia Goode’s patronizing smile as she assured you that she knew best multiple times throughout those tumultuous last few weeks. It was Cordelia who assured you that cutting off all contact with Michael would be for the best of the coven. Cordelia had been the one to tell you that Michael was pure evil, and had been the reason why you were kidnapped in the first place. The rift between you and Michael had been caused by Cordelia, who had then decided that it would be best if you just lost all of your memories too. Her reasoning? So that your bond couldn’t be used for Michael to find you. 

Michael. 

The man who had haunted your dreams for years turned out to be the love of your life. With the perspective that you’re now gaining, you really don’t blame him for kidnapping you. You would have preferred that he  _ not _ kill your friends, but that was a conversation for another time. You watch all of your memories with him; the quiet days spent together in his dorm, the spontaneous adventures, the kisses and the cuddles and the pure, unadulterated love that the two of you shared. Your mind, which is working overtime to compensate for the sudden influx of information, connects the dots between two sets of the same icy blue eyes and the two heads of beautiful blond curls that you so vividly remember. Langdon and Michael are one and the same, although the last name is now a dead giveaway for you. 

You come back to the present with a loud cry, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You’re shaking like a leaf from the immense amounts of power suddenly flowing through your veins where you lay, which turns out to be in Langdon--no, Michael’s arms. He’s staring down at you, a disbelieving smile on his face while tears make tracks down his face. You reach your hand up to touch his face, fingers reflexively remembering every inch of his face. 

“Did you not think it would work?” You tease, surging up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“A part of me didn’t think it would.” He admits, holding you tightly. “I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). I never stopped looking for you, even after the bombs dropped. I knew you had made it to one of the Outposts, but I didn’t know which one or if you were still alive after so long.” 

“I missed you too, Michael.” He hums happily, rubbing his nose against yours. 

“Say my name again.” 

“Michael.” You coo while running a hand through his hair. “Michael, Michael, Michael.” His name comes out of your mouth in a sing-song tone, both of you giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. 

“You have no idea how hard it was to keep myself from holding you and never letting you go when I first saw you again.” Michael finally kisses you, and you sigh into the gesture. It’s just as sweet as you now remember, and his skilled lips mold easily against yours.

“You’re such a drama queen!” You laugh, remembering his nighttime visit last night. “You came into my room in the dead of night to give me a dream of one of the times we snuck out to the forest just to make sure I wasn’t lying?”

“I had to see you! Besides, that’s one of my favorite memories of the two of us.” He defends. You roll your eyes jokingly, but let the dramatics slide.

“You let your hair grow out!” You note in appreciation, leaning your forehead against Michael’s. 

“Do you like it?” He asks shyly, and you’re suddenly reminded of the unsure boy you first fell in love with. 

“I love it.” You grin. “I love  _ you _ .” 

“I love you, too.” 

“I’m so sorry for running away from you.”

“I don’t blame you for running away. I shouldn’t have kidnapped you, and I’m sorry about that.” 

“Michael, I know you have a vendetta against all the witches, but Mallory wasn’t involved in anything. She was as clueless as I was when it came to Ms. Mead and their plot to take you down.” You explain, eyes silently pleading with him to drop this grudge.

“She won’t be harmed for the actions of your coven, then.” You sigh in relief, kissing him gratefully. 

“Thank you.” 

“That does lead me to an important question, though: do you know what Cordelia’s planning? It would make sense if she had just erased your memory, but to erase Mallory’s as well? There’s got to be a bigger plan that this ties into.” 

You have to think for a moment, wrinkling your nose while you try to figure things out. 

“Right before she blew the powder in my face, she had mentioned that mine and Mallory’s powers were too strong and that they would act as a beacon. That’s why we couldn’t be buried in the swamp with the surviving coven members.” Michael’s nose wrinkles in disgust as he nods slowly. “What?”

“Cordelia and her accomplices survived the blast.” 

“Which means?” You ask for some clarification. 

“They’ll be coming to ‘free’ you and Mallory and give you back your powers. After that, I assume they’ll try to kill me or attempt a spell to reverse the apocalypse.” 

“I won’t go back to them, not after what they did to me and you. Mallory won’t, either; they held her down and took her memory against her will, too. I love you, Michael. It’s the two of us now, always.” 

“Always.” He repeats, kissing you again. 

“Can I stay here with you tonight?” You’re not willing to leave your lover now that you’ve found him. The mere thought of it physically makes your heart hurt. 

“Oh, my darling, now that I have you again I’m never letting you leave.” If it was anybody but Michael saying this, they’d sound like a creepy stalker. Instead, it brings you immense comfort, and you giggle when he stands with you in his arms and walks with you towards his bedroom. 


	8. The Word of Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after nearly two long years spent scared and alone, you’re reunited with your Michael. And now that Michael has you back, his final plans can finally be set in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for–SMUT! Woohoo! Thanks for putting up with me and my weird updating schedule lately. Finals suck, school sucks, I just wanna drop out and live alone in a little cabin in the woods. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated, and I would love if you would drop a comment or leave kudos if you enjoyed this chapter!

The night involves a lot of you and Michael reacquainting yourselves with each other’s bodies; your lover’s stamina is truly unmatched. You don’t exactly remember falling asleep, but you realize you must have when your eyes flutter open and you yawn. Stretching your arms above your head, you groan quietly at the popping that your joints make. The feeling of feather-light touches on your arm makes you tilt your head to the side, a lazy smile appearing on your face when you see Michael. He’s always had a bad habit of watching you while he waits for you to wake up, requiring less sleep than the average human. 

“Good morning. Or...whatever time it is.” You murmur, goosebumps appearing on the flesh where Michael draws intricate designs. 

“It’s technically morning.” 

“I hate it here, there’s no way to tell what time it truly is. For all we know it could be midnight and Venable could have set the clocks forward eight hours.” You grumble, carding your fingers through Michael’s tangled locks. 

“We only need to spend a couple more days here, my angel, and then we’ll be on our way to the Sanctuary.” 

“Oh? Have you made your selections already?” 

“The only ‘selection’ you need to worry about is yours.” 

“Well, Mr. Langdon? Do I pass?” You smirk. In a split second you’re on your back, Michael propping himself up above you. 

“Hmm, what do you think?” Your eyes light up when he surges down to kiss you, hands immediately tangling in his long hair. 

“This still doesn’t feel real.” You note when Michael pulls back to lay soft kisses on your neck. 

“What doesn’t feel real?” 

“This. Being with you, having my memories back, all of it.”

“However could I possibly help to convince you that you’re truly here?” Michael questions, smiling cheekily at you. 

“Well...oh!” Your back arches when Michael’s sneaky hand makes contact with your bare core. “That’s...that’s definitely a good start.” 

Michael looks up briefly from your breasts, where he’s currently working at sucking a hickey into the already-bruised skin. You nearly come when he winks at you, dipping back down to bite your nipple while he continues to gather your wetness with his hand. He shoots you a confused glance when you gain control of your limbs long enough to pull him up towards you. 

“I just need to be with you.” You explain, avoiding eye contact with him. You know your cheeks are pink, you can feel the heat rising off of your skin at your declaration. 

Your sexual relationship with Michael has never been the softest thing. You like when he’s rough, and he likes taking control. It’s an off night if you don’t have any bruises on your skin and you haven’t cum so many times that you can’t even form sentences, at least in Michael’s opinion. But you had your share of that last night. Whether it be a post-sleep haze, or having gotten over the initial euphoria of remembering your lover, you just want him close to you. Your eyes flicker back to Michael when he places his thumb against your full bottom lip, a soft smile on his face. 

“Say no more.” 

A slow kiss follows while he enters you easily, your body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle. You both pause, savoring the feeling of completion before rocking your bodies against each other. Michael’s movements are languid as he lays open-mouthed kisses on your face and neck. His movements are something that have always captivated you, you manage to muse while holding tightly to Michael’s neck. Everything about him is calculated, all the way down to how he holds himself. He oozes power, strength, and something that sends most people cowering the moment he walks into a room. 

Not with you, however. 

With you, Michael’s uncharacteristically soft. Every touch is delicate, as if he fears you’ll break into pieces the moment his hands caress your skin. When you and he first started dating, you could see the brief flash of fear in his eyes whenever your hand would brush against his. He’s never said it out loud, but you know Michael from the inside-out. He’s worried that you’ll disappear, a mirage sent by his father to tempt him. Surely something as heaven-sent as you could never have crossed paths with something as evil as him, Michael had pondered once during a late night spent in each other’s embraces, long before the thought of witches being slaughtered had ever even crossed his mind. 

“Where did you go?” Michael’s voice jars you out of your head, your eyes focusing back on him. 

“I was just thinking.” 

“What about?”

You shrug. “About how much I love you.” 

Michael has a way of making everything he does look utterly angelic. You suppose that’s the irony in it all: the deadly beauty that Satan’s son possesses, meant to lure unsuspecting victims right into his clutches. The beautiful smile that splits across his face, along with the light pink that dusts his cheeks, could easily send you into an early grave. You can’t help but to smile back at him, ducking your face into the pillow bunched up against your head in mild embarrassment. 

“Angel, I can promise you that there is nothing in the entire universe that I love more than you.” 

A moan slips past your lips when he nips playfully at your jaw, hips pivoting and hitting the spot deep within you that makes stars burst in front of your eyes. His pace picks up, enough to where both of you are gasping out terms of endearment. 

“Do you,” Michael’s interrupted by a deep groan, “do you remember the first time I made love to you?” 

You nod breathlessly, eyes meeting his own cerulean ones. “Of course I do.”

Flashes of your first time together play through your mind: the soft blonde curls that framed his face like a halo, the quiet noises that slipped out against your wills, having to be as silent as possible so as not to have one of the many wary witches and warlocks investigate and come upon Michael’s room, and the shy clumsiness of it all. This isn’t Michael’s old room, thankfully; you’re not sure you could handle the embarrassment of reliving getting caught by both of your head teachers. The soft tendrils of magic that are so entwined in this building that they might as well have been built into the foundation, however, are. They’ve always been the same, welcoming you home like an old friend who you hadn’t seen in quite some time.

“I was just as entranced with you then as I am now.” Your back arches when his hand, which had sneakily been sliding down your body, makes contact with your clit. 

You can tell that Michael’s close, the intense rhythm that he set faltering as his hips snap desperately against yours. Your veins burn with the fire that courses through them, and you lock your legs around Michael’s waist to urge him to go faster. Michael whines almost pitifully, pressing his lips against yours in the hopes that you’ll swallow the sound of his vulnerability. You pull away, wanting to see him lose it as you clench around him. 

“Cum for me, Michael.” You mumble, brushing a hand through his hair. 

The words you utter have him throwing his head back, almost yelling out as his cock pulses inside of you. His hips slam against you one last time, holding you in place while he finally releases. Michael’s always been one to test his endurance, continuing this tradition as he continues to fuck into you while he’s still coming down from his high. The combination of him orgasming inside you and his hand, which has still been working relentlessly against your clit, has you cumming moments later. A high-pitched moan is the only sound you can make while you shake against Michael, the aftershocks of your own orgasm causing you to jolt up into his arms. 

You hold each other for a while, Michael laying on your chest while you both attempt to regain a normal breathing pattern. His room is mostly silent, the intermingling sounds of heavy breathing and the crackling fire providing the soundtrack. Time passes in a sluggish pace as you start to doze, groaning when Michael shakes you lightly. 

“Ms. Venable will soon be requiring your presence in the dining room. Mandatory breakfast.” Michael notes with a sneer. 

“Don’t make me go, I just wanna stay here with you.” You whine, looking down at him with an exaggerated pout. 

“I wish I could keep you here, truly. Unfortunately, we must not let anyone catch on to our relationship, at least for the time being.” He kisses the pout right off of your lips. 

“Fuckin’ Venable and her stupid fake rules.” You grumble, Michael rolling off of you so that you can sit up. 

He props himself up on his arm, watching as you stumble around the room in an attempt to find your clothes. 

“Don’t you want to shower first before going back to your room?”

“Hah, because we both know how well that will go.” You jokingly glare at him, seeing right through his ‘innocent’ suggestion. “I’ll see you later though, right?”

You know that Michael sees the fear that briefly flashes through your eyes, making it obvious how terrified you are that he’s just going to disappear once again, along with your memories. He pulls you towards him from where you’re perched on the edge of the bed, trying to roll your stockings up your feet. 

“I promise you that we will see each other again today.” He reassures you, stroking your wild hair back from your face. “Now go, I would prefer not to start my day by having that insufferable woman barging in here on her quest to make every resident of this Outpost all the more miserable.”

* * *

It’s surprisingly noisy when you finally make your way to the main area of the Outpost, which is noisier than you’ve heard it for the entire eighteen months you’ve been here. You feel a little discombobulated being here now that your memories are back. This place is so much more than an Outpost, but nobody knows that except for you and Michael. Breakfast, better known as the gelatinous cubes you’re forced to choke down, was eliminated last week, so you head towards the library where everyone’s trying to quell the pangs of hunger with water. It falls silent when you walk in, and you smile awkwardly at the stares before remembering that you attempted to sacrifice yourself just last night.

Timothy jumps up and crushes you in a hug, the only sign that he was pistol-whipped being the lump on his forehead. Emily stands slightly behind him, a protective hand on his shoulder. 

“Thank you.” He mutters into your ear, pulling away so he can see with his own eyes that you’re actually okay. 

“I think I should be the one thanking you, Tim. You knocked the gun out of Mead’s hand.”

“Yeah, we all see how well that went.” 

“Ah, and just when we were beginning to get worried.” A cold voice speaks up from the entrance of the library. You turn around to see Ms. Venable herself, smiling tightly at you. “(Y/N), you missed my announcement.”

“Your  _ announcement _ ?” Your voice drips with disdain, your confidence having been boosted immensely now that your memories are back. 

“Yes. We will be having a Halloween masquerade party here, tonight. Attendance is, as always, mandatory.” Her smile widens, sending chills down your spine. 

“May I ask why we’re suddenly celebrating holidays?” You can’t help but to be a little suspicious; holidays have never been observed here. In fact, they’re often discouraged. The sudden change in Venable’s rules is mildly shocking to you. 

“It’s been a very trying few weeks for us, Ms. (Y/L/N). I figured that a little party would be a welcome distraction.” Her eyes sweep across the room, patrolling to make sure everything is to her standards, before she leaves dramatically. 

“Where’s Gallant? I’m sure he almost passed out from excitement after he learned there’d be a party.” The easy smile on Emily’s face dims at the mention of your bleach-blond best friend. 

“About that…”

Emily barely had time to finish explaining last night’s events before you’re sprinting up the stairs, dress in your hands while you try to make it to Gallant’s room as quickly as possible. The door’s locked, which isn’t too surprising, but you still jiggle the knob in the hope that it will suddenly turn. 

“Gal! Let me in before I break this damn door down!” You yell, pounding on the door with an open hand.

Grabbing a bobby pin from your hair you kneel in front of the door, fully prepared to start picking the lock. When you remember that you’re a witch, you toss the bobby pin to the side and just use your magic to unlock the door. You have to hold back the smirk that crosses your face at how easy and familiar the act is, the door opening widely and allowing you to step through. Gallant’s laying on his bed, an arm thrown over his eyes, but he sits up when he hears you close the door behind you. 

“How the hell did you get in?” 

“I picked the lock.” You lie easily, sitting down next to him. “Emily told me what happened to your Nana.” 

“What, how I killed her?” He snorts, shaking his head as tears spring to his eyes for what you’re assuming isn’t the first time. 

“No? She said Evie died in her sleep.” 

Gallant’s silent for a few minutes, and you let him have his time to think while he attempts to figure out what he wants to say next. Unfortunately, you know all too well what it’s like to grieve for those you’re so close to.

“This is going to sound absolutely fucking insane, but I thought it was Langdon.”

“What?”

“Remember how I told you yesterday about getting fucked by the man in the rubber suit? Well, he showed up again in my room last night. I thought it was Langdon, so when I was on top of him I grabbed a pair of scissors and stabbed him. I heard a noise, and when I looked up Langdon was standing at the door, just like watching me. I looked back to who I thought was Langdon and instead, it was my Nana.” He gets choked up at the end, and you slide your arms around him. 

“But...if you stabbed her, how come everyone’s saying that she died of natural causes?” 

“I have no clue. Venable and Mead examined the body, and there were no wounds on her.” He rubs his eyes, leaning his head against your shoulder. “Weird shit’s been happening ever since Langdon showed up here, y’know?”

You laugh awkwardly, nodding at what could be considered as the understatement of the year. “Yeah, that’s one way to look at it.” 

“Call me on it if I’m wrong, babe, but you’re acting really weird today and I want to know why.” 

Gallant shifts so he’s sitting up, looking you in the eyes. “What? No, I’m not.”

“(Y/N), I know you like I know a pair of real Loubs from a pair of knockoff ones. Something’s up.” You hate that he can read you like an open book; being a temporary amnesiac left you vulnerable and needy. 

“Um, we’re here so that I can comfort you about Evie, not so that you can psychoanalyze me.” 

“Okay, and it’s not like she was the most loving person. She literally tried to get me killed to improve her chances of making it to the Sanctuary. So? Tell me. It’d make me feel better.” 

“Ugh, fine! I really hate it when you’re persuasive.”

“Oh, but I’m just so damn good at it.” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to go on about why you’ve been acting ‘weird.’

“Well, to put it simply: I got my memories back.”

You cringe slightly, knowing that Gallant’s reaction will go one of two ways. He’ll either provide you with an underwhelming response, a simple shrug and calmly asking you how it happened and what you remember. His other reaction could be to scream with joy, bouncing across the room and chattering about how this is a soap opera for the ages. With Gallant, any information that you tell him could garner a hit-or-miss reaction. 

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” A grin splits his face so widely that you’re worried he’s going to pull a muscle. “ _ (Y/N)! _ ”

Definitely the latter reaction, then. Still, his infectious behavior spreads to you, watching with glee while Gallant grabs your shoulders and pulls you towards him. 

“Tell me everything. You have to! How did you get your memories back? Do you remember everything? Is your name still (Y/N)?” He gasps. “Wait, can I still be your best friend?” 

“Whoa, slow your roll. Let’s start with one question at a time.”

“ _ Fine _ . What do you remember?” 

“Everything.” 

“Everything?” You nod, smiling. 

“I remember it all. Everything that happened to me before I woke up in that apartment.”

“How did you get it back?”

“That’s actually a funny story. You remember how I told you that I thought Langdon was somehow connected with my past?” Gallant slaps the bed, eyes lighting up. 

“Shut the fuck up! He is?” You don’t even have time to answer before Gallant is launching into how he believes you’re connected. “Oh my God, he really is your blue-eyed honey! Did you guys have a thing before the amnesia?” 

“You could say that…”

“How serious was it?”

“I’d say pretty serious.” Gallant lets out a breathless gasp, clapping a hand over his chest. 

“Long-lost lovers? I’m  _ living  _ right now!” Your face flushes bright red as you teasingly smack your best friend. 

“Gal!”

“So what brought them back, then?”

Your smile freezes on your face as you think about what to say next. Do you share your secret and out Michael, not only as a wielder of magic, but also as the Antichrist? You know that he would take your secret to the grave, but you also worry that he’ll make it painfully obvious the next time that he sees Michael that  _ he knows  _ what Michael truly is. It’s a risk you’re not willing to take yet, at least until you can talk to him about it. 

“I think just being around him, and having one-on-one conversations with him. He also helped me out too, told me some stories of the two of us to try and jog my memories.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the truth. 

“Gallant, we have-oh, am I interrupting something?” Coco’s shrill voice pierces through the air as she waltzes into Gallant’s room without knocking. You share a quick look before simultaneously plastering fake smiles onto your faces. 

“Nope, not at all, (Y/N) and I were just chatting.”

“I can come back later, if you’re still talking.” The pinched look on her face, almost like she just caught a whiff of sour milk, makes it clear that she does not want to wait around for you two to finish. 

“You’re fine, I’ve got some stuff to do anyways.” You stand up, but not before giving Gallant a quick hug. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“See you tonight.” You sidle past Coco, who refuses to move even an inch out of the way for you, and make your way back to your room.

* * *

 

Parties have never been something you’ve enjoyed, and that’s extremely obvious while you procrastinate for as long as possible. It takes you an hour to ‘pick out’ what you’re going to wear (a dress that you had modified a long time ago, which Venable had then banned for breaking the rules), and another hour to manage to even put it on. You’re standing in front of the mirror, smoothing out some non-existent wrinkles in your outfit, when a loud knock sounds on the door. 

“Come in!” You call, knowing that the only one who ever knocks just once is Ms. Mead. 

The short woman promptly enters, standing in the doorway with her hands clasped together. It’s mildly disconcerting, seeing the woman you now remember as a robot who aided in the murder of your sisters standing right in front of you. Still, you put on a polite smile as you turn around to look at her. 

“How can I help you, Ms. Mead?” 

“Langdon has requested your presence in his quarters. You’re to follow me.” She quickly turns around, missing your silent chuckle and eye roll. Of course he couldn’t handle being without you for more than a few hours. 

Ms. Mead does her signature knock once again when you reach Michael’s door, waiting a second before opening it. 

“I have (Y/N) here, sir.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Mead.” You can’t see him, but his voice lilts through the air like smoke. Entering his room, Ms. Mead closes the door behind you quickly. 

Michael’s sitting at his desk, working on his laptop that you’re still uncertain of how it’s still functioning. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, waiting until he looks up at you to kiss him. 

“She hasn’t seemed too excited to be reunited with you.” You note, allowing Michael to pull you into his lap. 

“I had to wipe her memory before the bombs.”

“Why?”

“It was all a part of my father’s plan.” You hate when he uses that line, but you nod anyways. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you. I had redesigned this probably a month after the bombs, and Venable nearly chewed my head off when I wore it. She told me that the next time she caught me in it, she would leave me outside for the cannibals.” You’re not sure if it’s because you stripped all of the lace and frills off of the purple dress or if it’s the lack of sleeves that gets her all fired up, but she was absolutely fuming after she had seen what you did to ‘precious resources.’ 

“Are you not scared of her now that I’m here?” His self-satisfied smirk falls when you start laughing. 

“What, did your invitation not say that it was a costume party and that we’re allowed to get creative?”

“I actually declined the invitation, much to Venable’s chagrin.”

“Oh, she let you do that?” 

“You forget, angel, that I outrank her. Not only that, but I also own her.” He nips your jaw playfully, eliciting a giggle from you that has his heart soaring.

“I wish I could just ‘decline’ her invitation.” You sigh, leaning your forehead against his. 

“Hmm, another perk to owning this Outpost and those who lead it: I get to decide what is mandatory, and for whom it is mandatory for.”

“You talk like a fuckin’ English duke now, did you know that? When’d you pick that up?”

“I do not!”

“Michael, you literally said ‘whom.’” Michael huffs, rolling his eyes towards the back of his head. 

“I tell you that you get to skip out on Venable’s Halloween party, and you choose to mock my dialect?” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Thank you for getting me out of going to the party.” His face turns to one of mock surprise, making you want to go back to mocking the way he talks. 

“You are so welcome.” He smiles cheekily, standing up with his arms around you. Your legs immediately lock around his waist, letting him carry you to where he wants to go. “I was thinking that we could possibly have our own little party in here tonight.”

Michael sets you down on your feet, and you sit in one of the large chairs by the fireplace while you wait for him to elaborate. He remains silent, instead turning around with two glasses of alcohol. A quick sniff and a small drink confirms that it’s a fine wine, typical of Michael and his lifestyle. He watches your face, smirking as you light up at getting to have something other than water and nutrition cubes. Once he’s satisfied that you’ve had enough, he waves a bejeweled hand in the air. 

The overhead lighting goes out, replaced by the soft glow of candles that decorate the room. It reminds you of the quiet nights spent with Michael in his dorm after curfew, having to keep only a single candle lit for fear of being caught. Music fills the room, but you can’t quite pinpoint where it’s coming from since the sound is all around you. You look up when Michael approaches you, a hand outstretched. 

“Dance with me.” You used to always dance with him, back when things were simple (simpler, at least) and you only had to worry about passing your hexes exam and making sure Michael didn’t die during the test of the Seven Wonders. Sometimes there wouldn’t even be music playing, it was just two people swaying softly to the soundtrack in their minds. You take Michael’s hand, letting him pull you up.

“Your choices of music haven’t changed in the slightest.” Michael’s always been fond of the ‘older’ music, a habit that, though he would never admit it, he inherited from his grandmother. It’s the type of music that can manage to be specific to any situation you’re in; all soft instrumentals and lyrics about veiled love. It’s very telling that Michael’s favorite type of music tends to fit his personality, at least, the personality that he shows you. 

_ You’re sailing softly through the sun _

_ In a broken stone age dawn... _

“Does that surprise you?” He murmurs, drawing you into his embrace. Your hands easily fall to their places, one on his shoulder and the other interlocked with his own hand. Michael tightly grips your waist, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent as he starts to sway with you.

_ You fly so high… _

“Not at all. It’s comforting, actually.”

“How so?”

_ I get a strange magic _

_ Oh, what a strange magic _

_ Oh, it’s a strange magic… _

“Because no matter how much your looks may have changed, or how much confidence you’ve gained to change your demeanor, you’re still the same Michael I fell in love with.  _ My _ Michael.” You don’t see it, but a tear or two escapes Michael’s eye before he can stop them. 

“And you’ve always been my angel, (Y/N).”

_ Got a strange magic _

_ Got a strange magic. _


	9. Someone Gets Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witches? In my Outpost? It’s more likely than you think. Alternatively, the final boss battle of the Apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, can’t believe we’re nearing the end here! I know I’ve neglected this lil’ story for a while, but honestly I was just really lost as to how I would continue it. Thankfully, making a snazzy Pinterest aesthetic board for Shatter helped me to figure out where I wanted to take these last couple of chapters. Feedback is always appreciated, and I would love if you would drop a comment or leave a kudos if you enjoyed this chapter!

Michael’s arms are still wrapped around you while you both remain in a comfortable silence. The songs have long since changed time and time again, with Paul Anka currently crooning through the unseen speakers. Time has passed by at an indeterminable rate, the only constant being the slow swaying that reminds you that you’re actually here, in the arms of your beloved Michael. It’s ironic, how being with the literal Antichrist makes you feel like you’re in heavy, but it’s an oxymoron you’re willing to embrace.

The music cuts out automatically when a knock sounds at the door. You unbury your head from Michael’s chest to look up at him. He doesn’t seem to have an inkling of confusion on his face, innately aware of who it is before the door even swings open. Your lip curls when Ms. Venable storms in, Ms. Mead trailing behind her, an ever-present shadow.

“Ladies,” Michael greets curtly, “I’m a little busy with finalizing my selections for the Sanctuary.” You have to stifle a laugh at his blatant and half-assed lie, pursing your lips to keep from grinning.

“We’re making the selections now, Mr. Langdon, and I’m afraid you didn’t make the cut.  _Neither_  of you did,” Venable smirks, believing she’s won some great battle. Michael releases you from his arms, but keeps your hand interlocked with his as you both share a silent conversation with one long look at each other. Michael bursts into laughter, but you remain silent at his side.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to let you have your moment, but I just couldn’t hold back.” Ms. Venable scowls at Michael’s complete lack of fear, so wrapped up in her anger that she can’t see that she’s already lost.

“Ms. Mead,” she snaps, the robot producing a gun from her jacket pocket. You barely even blink when the gun is pointed at you, having already faced death numerous times in just the past two days. “Kill (Y/N) first. After all, we still require  _blood atonement_  for the aborted punishment yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Michael stares at Ms. Mead, the gun quivering in her hands as she freezes. You know what Michael’s planning on doing, your connection with him being evolved enough to where you can sense his ideas, but the dramatics as he allows Ms. Mead’s system to try and override his commands get tiring to watch. You want action; you want  _blood_.

Something changed in you the moment that you got your memories back. For nearly three years, you’ve been used as a pawn in everyone else’s games. To them, you’ve been something to be used, to be won or owned. For Michael, it was his victorious capture as he ‘freed’ you from the coven. Miss Cordelia saw you as the secret weapon to be tucked away and used when the time was right. Ms. Venable asserts her role of power by controlling your every move, even making up her own rules in the hopes that she’ll be able to satiate her need for murder in her corrupt Outpost.

You’re tired of being pushed around and treated like you’re not your own person. Everybody seems to want something from you, regardless of how you feel about it. Even Michael, the love of your life, is guilty of this very same crime. After all, a golden cage, with all of its fine decorations and elaborate disguises, is still just a cage.

The first sign that something is off with Ms. Venable is her eyes widening, mouth falling open. Michael’s perturbed, but he doesn’t show it beyond the crook of an eyebrow. You smile softly, serenely, as your hand clenches and further cuts off her air supply. When a blue tinge appears around her lips, an odd noise escaping from her mouth as her lungs desperately try to fill themselves with the air that they won’t be getting, Michael looks towards you. Still, he doesn’t stop you. When you finally get bored of teasing her, a simple flick of your hand is all that it takes to snap her neck and send her toppling to the floor, dead.

Ms. Mead lowers the gun, stuttering as she tries to comprehend why she didn’t take the shot as commanded, but you can only stare at your hands. They’re shaking slightly, as if your emotions are finally catching up to realizing what you’ve just done. The gravity of the situation, though, doesn’t fall on you like you’re expecting it to. It’s a shock, of course, that you’ve just murdered a woman. You don’t regret what you did to her, feeling nothing but contempt as you stare down at her still-warm corpse.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls, and your eyes snap up to his. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, “it-it felt… _good_ , to do that.”

“I knew that the poisoned apples plan would be enjoyable for everyone involved. Not only did Venable believe she had killed everyone and won, but–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you cut off Michael’s victorious monologue, “go back a bit. ‘Killed everyone?’ You’re joking, right?”

“The Outpost residents needed to die for us to win. It was the only way that we could lure the witches here,” Michael sighs, reaching a hand out towards you. “This is why I kept you away, (Y/N). You’ve never been good with the deaths of those that you’ve formed attachments to.”

The room spins as the gravity of what Michael’s just said starts to sink in. They’re all dead, every single one of them. Gallant, Timothy, Emily, Mallory. Your friends, and the only people left on this world, besides Michael, who understood you. You let out a yell and surge forward, determined to use Vitalum Vitalis and bring them back to life, but Michael’s firm arms wrapping around your waist stop you. He hauls you back, entrapping you against his body while you futilely kick your legs against his shins.

“ _Enough_ ,” he says sharply. “Do you feel that?” When you do calm down, you realize what he’s talking about. You can feel the magic that thrums through the air, magic that you haven’t felt for years.

“Cordelia,” you mutter, eyes shifting up to look at Michael. He’s staring at you, gauging your reaction at the arrival of your Supreme and coven. You don’t need to tell him that you harbor nothing but animosity for the woman, having already sensed it in you from the moment your powers picked up on their arrival. “So this is it, then?”

“This is it. What I–what we have been working towards for years.”

He releases you from his arms, and you stumble as you regain your footing. When you straighten up, you meet Michael’s cold blue eyes. He’s questioning you, trying to figure out your allegiances without breaking his promise to not use magic on you without your permission.

“Hey, remember what I said last night? It’s just the two of us now, no matter what.”

“Promise?” Ms. Mead approaches him, a velvet red dinner jacket in her hands. You can’t help but to smile as you take the jacket from her hands and help Michael into it; even after all these years, he still seeks validation just as much as he did when you first started dating.

“I promise you, Michael.”

“What do you think?”

“Hail Satan,” Ms. Mead says, smiling proudly at her surrogate son.

“Not quite, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Michael holds his arm out for you, looking down at you proudly. “Shall we?”

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in you as you reach your hand out, fingers grasping his firm bicep. Michael kisses you, almost as if he’s claiming a victory, before pulling away. Your eyes flutter shut as he fixes your mussed hair, making sure that you’re both ready for the imminent ‘reunion’ with the coven. Your eyes shoot open again when new life forces burst across the blank canvas behind your eyelids.

“They’ve revived the others,” you mutter, looking up at Michael.

“Then let us go and greet our guests.”

Cordelia’s light, airy voice hasn’t changed a bit. It floats up the stairs, making your back stiffen as your body reacts to your once-mother figure’s presence. Cordelia ended up as a ‘mother’ for all of the girls under her charge at Miss Robichaux’s, and it’s still difficult to come to terms with how she betrayed your trust.

“We need your help.  _All of you,_ ” Cordelia stands in front of the three witches: Coco, Mallory, and Dinah (although Dinah would slit your throat if she heard you saying that she was a witch). “It’s the only way we can defeat him.”

They don’t notice when you and Michael reach the landing at the top of the stairs, too wrapped up in their own world to realize the lion that stalks them from a hidden perch.

“You’re on your own with that shit. I’m not here to defeat anyone,” Dinah quips, rolling her eyes as if insulted to be brought back to life in an effort to defeat the Antichrist.

“How can any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?” The six women whip around at the sound of Michael’s voice, and you’re startled to see that Madison and Myrtle managed to survive with Cordelia.

“You  _haven’t_  won,” Cordelia steps forward, eyes flickering to you standing arm-in-arm with Michael.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed the state of the world.”

“It’s almost as bad as your dinner jacket, but at least the world can be saved,” Myrtle speaks up, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her take on fashion.

“I must admit, Michael, it was very clever of you to reach (Y/N) and take her for yourself before we could find her. Release her from whatever spell you have her under. You know she would never be on your side willingly,” Cordelia says, believing that you’ll come running into her arms once you’ve been rescued from the big, bad Antichrist.

“Whatever  _spell_  I have her under?” Michael laughs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Cordelia, I  _freed_  (Y/N) from your spell. Imagine my surprise when I learned that you had wiped the memories of my beloved in an attempt to weaponize her against me.”

“No…” Cordelia gasps, finding it impossible to believe that you would turn against her.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls, and you hum in response. “What do you remember?”

“I remember everything. Being lied to about Michael, led to believe that things would be alright if I escaped him. I remember making it back to Misty’s swamp, and you luring me in with a false sense of security. I remember you tackling me to the ground before  _forcibly_ taking my memories away from me, all so that you could use me as some secret weapon,” You say sharply, glowering at the woman in front of you.

“(Y/N) or no (Y/N),” Cordelia is obviously thrown off her rhythm by your admission, but chooses to continue, “the world will still be saved.”

“By you?” Michael’s incredulous tone permeates the silent room.

“By all of us.”

“Hey, get the wax out of your ears, I’m here to watch,” Dinah declares.

“But I’m not,” Coco moves to stand by Cordelia, her smirk fading into a grimace. “Just don’t let me die again, okay? It really sucked the first time.”

“When we’re done, you’ll all wish you were still dead,” Michael’s lip curls into a sneer as your eyes lock with Mallory’s. You can see every emotion that’s currently flashing through her eyes: the confusion, the apprehension, the betrayal, and the determination. You just hope that you can get to her in time to use that determination so that you can both exact revenge on Cordelia for what she did to you.

“I always thought the world would end with fire and ice, not witches and warlocks,” Myrtle says.

“The seventh seal has been broken. Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers to blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened, and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity. The world has been remade in my father’s image.”

“Darling…” Myrtle chuckles, “it seems Daddy didn’t tell you the most important rule of bringing on the apocalypse. If you want to finish the job, the thing you have to do first is get rid of all the witches.”

“Big mistake,” Coco pipes up.

“I could annihilate all of you in a second and the world would go on without missing a beat.” Michael’s getting angry now, starting to lose his cool, and you tighten your grip on him in an attempt to calm him down. “You, and all of your work, will be forgotten in the rubble of the past. But we want to give you a future.”

Michael steps forward with you, keeping you side-by-side with him as his equal. When you steal a glance towards him, your heart rate increases. He looks strong, assured, and pissed. He’s ready to burn the rest of his enemies, and kiss you in the midst of their remains. You smirk when he looks at you for a split second, the fire in his eyes evident.

“Fall to your knees and accept me as your lord and savior, accept (Y/N) as your queen and I as your king, and we will bring you to the table as our obedient subjects.”

Cordelia audibly laughs, though the humor in this situation is not evident to you.

“Imbeciles!” Ms. Mead speaks up from where she’s been standing behind you. “Fall to your knees before the king and queen! Hail Satan!”

Michael had never discussed you becoming the ‘queen’ alongside him before, so it’s a shock to hear him implore your former coven to accept you as such. Still, you can’t deny the images that flash through your mind, of you and Michael ruling together and creating a new, perfect world for everyone. It would work, and you’re more than willing to do your part to help, but not in the way that he’s planned it. This carnage, the smoldering remnants of a once-thriving world, are not sustainable for  _any_  sort of world, even one ruled by the Antichrist. You can’t watch more people be slaughtered all in the hopes that Michael will be fulfilling his father’s plans.  

“The only way we would sit at your table is if your decapitated head were the centerpiece,” Cordelia nearly spits the words out of her mouth like they’re coated in venom.

“Cordelia, you raised me from the dead so that you would have the power of voodoo on your side,” Dinah moves to stand next to Cordelia, the two women looking at each other. “But if you know anything about who I am, you know that the only choice I’d pick would be the winner.”

Dinah bows her head in respect, averting her eyes to the floor as Michael holds his hand out towards her.

“You’re half-right, Dinah.”

“She needed the help of a powerful voodoo queen, but that ain’t you,  _sis_.” You can only gape at the sight of a woman with long, braided hair and a deep Southern accent who can only be Marie Laveau. You had never met her before, your arrival at the academy being a few years after Cordelia’s ascension to Supreme, but every witch had heard the stories of the legendary voodoo queen. “To release me from hell, Cordelia promised Papa Legba the  _darkest_  and  _most_   _corrupt_  voodoo queen’s soul for mine. You’ll serve him well in my place.”

“You’re a fool, Marie Laveau,” Dinah spits. “You would have done no different if you were queen.”

“No!” Marie Laveau disappears, and then reappears a moment later behind Dinah with a machete. Even those who seem indomitable, such as Dinah, meet their death at the hands of something as simple as a well-placed throat slash.

Dinah bleeds out on the floor below you, Marie Laveau declaring her victory before the woman is even fully dead. Michael, who is completely over the theatrics at this point, looks behind his shoulder towards Ms. Mead. The robot removes her hand, revealing a machine gun underneath. When Cordelia starts speaking Latin, your limbs freeze. It’s been too long since you’ve studied Latin, and your knowledge of the language is too rusty to keep up with what she’s saying. When Ms. Mead starts convulsing and smoking, you realize too late what the spell was.

“Michael–” You don’t get to finish your sentence before the robotic copy of Ms. Mead explodes.

The force of the blast propels both you and Michael over the side of the railing, your hands being ripped apart from each other in the process. Michael, being the Antichrist, is largely unscathed from the fall. You, however, are nothing more than a witch. Your head hits the concrete floor with a sickening crack, bouncing like a basketball from the force of the impact. You don’t remember blacking out, but the next thing you remember is the sound of gunshots breaking through the ringing in your ears. Your head throbs as you’re hauled up suddenly, and a strangled scream rips through your body at the sight of Michael’s bullet-riddled corpse against a wall.

“Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm. Place myself there and say the words.  _Tempus Infinituum._ Then take him out.” You force your eyes to remain open, looking at Mallory who has you propped up against her as she speaks. Cordelia stands on your other side, keeping you steady with a firm arm around your shoulders. The two women drag you up the stairs, ignoring your cries as you lamely try to fight their grips.

“You guys, you don’t have to do this. There’s another way, one that doesn’t involve going back in time and killing Michael.” Your voice is rough from the screaming that you’ve done, and speaking louder than a whisper sends lightning bolts through your head, but you need to stop this. You know what they’re planning to do with  _Tempus Infinituum,_  having watched as Mallory went back in time to try and prevent the execution of Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov.

“(Y/N), you are an integral part to saving the world! I promise you, the love that you think Michael has for you? It’s not real. He’s the  _Antichrist_ , (Y/N), he’s incapable of love,” Cordelia impatiently explains, hustling you down one of the many hallways of the former Hawthorne school.

“Mallory, why?” You turn your attention to your best friend. “You were in the exact same situation as I was when we got our memories wiped. Neither of us wanted it, why would you blindly follow Cordelia?”

“B-because it’s what we’ve been working towards for years,” Mallory stutters, looking unsure.

“I’m telling you, there’s another–” A sharp pain in your abdomen cuts your sentence off in a gasp as you look down and find a knife embedded in your stomach.

“I should have been on that plane!” Brock, Coco’s old boyfriend, yells. You don’t have time to wonder why he’s here, or inspect just how the radiation has ruined his once-pristine appearance, as he yanks the knife out of your torso.

Mallory and Cordelia both scream as you stagger back, shaking hands attempting to cover the wound that’s steadily producing blood. You sink against the wall, the world turning blurry as your head lolls to the side. Something wet dribbles past your lips and down your face, and you weakly poke your tongue out to make sure that you’re not somehow drooling on yourself. With a faint note of alarm, you realize that blood is coming out of your mouth, too.

Myrtle steps around you to yell something at Brock, but you can’t really figure out what’s being said. Cordelia’s pressing her hands to your abdomen, trying desperately to stop the bleeding while Mallory strokes your face and attempts to comfort you. A flash of light draws your attention towards Myrtle, and you can see that she’s set Brock afire, his burning body falling over the railing. Falling to the ground limply, Cordelia’s face appears in and out of your vision.

Michael can feel that something’s wrong from the moment that he rises again and blows that ungrateful bitch’s head off. He doesn’t start panicking until he realizes that the pain in his abdomen and intense fear he’s feeling isn’t coming from him, it’s coming from you.

“(Y/N)!” Michael’s loud voice cuts through the rest of your swimming senses, coming through like he’s standing right next to you. He’s frantic, something that you’ve never seen from him.

“He’s coming!” Marie Laveau’s voice sounds like you’re submerged underwater, but you’re still conscious enough to know that she means Michael.

“ _M…Mi–l…_ ” You try to call for him, to let him know that you’re here, but blood blocks your airway and bubbles up past your lips when you try to speak.

“Shh, shh.” Cordelia soothes, urging you not to speak so that you don’t lose as much blood. You’re dead weight now, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you start to float in and out of consciousness, so the three women grab your arms and start dragging you down the hallway. Your eyes focus just long enough for you to see Michael’s bloody face as he tries to get past Marie Laveau.

“ _…_ ” This time, when you try to say his name, you can’t even force a breath of air that sounds anything like a syllable out of your mouth.

The next minutes pass by in a blur. One moment you’re on the floor, the next you’re in someone’s arms, and the next you’re in a large tub of water. Your ears are ringing too loudly for you to hear clearly now, and you’re only able to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re chanting, each touching your body as they attempt to do something to heal you.

“ _Can’t…without her!_ ” Mallory yells.

“ _We…time…_ ” Even Myrtle sounds concerned at the situation, and if you weren’t mortally wounded, you’d laugh.

“ _I won’t…_ ” Cordelia’s shaking her head profusely, refusing to believe what’s currently happening. Your blood is rapidly turning the water that you’re situated in red, and your eyes focus on Cordelia when Mallory shifts your body to try and make you more comfortable. Weakly, you grip the Supreme’s wrist to get her attention.

“ _…don’twannadie…_ ” You rasp out, desperate to try and speak. In your eyes, Cordelia sees everything you’re feeling. Your love for Michael, your love for your coven, your regret that things had to end this way. Cordelia realizes suddenly that, while she’s felt weak for years now, she now feels almost as strong as she did when she first became Supreme. Smoothing your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead, she smiles at you before standing.

“Mallory is not the Supreme.” It’s like you’re having an out-of-body experience as you watch the events that are happening as your nearly-dead body sits behind the elder witches.

“What? Cordelia, that’s ridiculous, we’ve been training for–”

“She’s right,” Mallory speaks up. “Haven’t you been able to feel (Y/N)’s power from the moment you arrived here? I’m strong, but my power is  _nothing_  like her’s.”

“I know what I have to do,” Cordelia says, casting one last look at you. Your eyes roll back into your head again, but for a brief second your piercing gaze pins her to her spot.

You pass out as Cordelia leaves the room, Mallory lightly slapping your face in an attempt to wake you up. You have that same feeling of time both freezing and passing by at the speed of light, just as you did when you were in Michael’s arms at the beginning of this evening. When air suddenly floods back into your lungs and you jolt up straight, you’re not sure how much time has passed. All you know is that you’re in the same position as you were before you passed out, and that the power running through your veins is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s cloying, it’s intoxicating, and it charges every nerve ending in your body to the point that you’re surprised you’re not shaking.

“Give me his hair,” you hold out your hand to Mallory, who still looks shocked that you basically rose from the dead. You know what you need to do now, to save the world and save Michael.

“You’re going to…?” She’s not sure what you’re going to do, but hands you his hair anyways.

“We can’t kill him. If we do, Satan will just find another way to conceive an Antichrist, and there’s no guarantee that we can stop whoever that will be. But we can help him, convince him to be on our side and that there’s a way to get what both sides need. I need your help, though; I can’t do this alone. Are you in?”

Mallory stares at you for a second, but you can see that she’s made her mind up even before she moves. You shift to one end of the basin, allowing her to clamber in with you. Immediately, the water starts bubbling and turning black. She grips your hands in hers, holding on tightly.

“I love you and I trust you,” She nods, touching her forehead to yours. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Shed the ego,” Mallory coaches, “disengage from this realm, place us there.” You breathe deeply, knowing the exact time and place that you have to go. Mallory can sense that you’ve successfully completed her instructions, and smiles. “Now, we say the words.”

“ _Tempus Infinituum!_ ”


	10. What I Did for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought traveling through time was the hard part of this ordeal? Attempting to stop a revenge-seeking warlock, an angry Supreme, and one emotional Antichrist boi easily tops that.

The hot sun beats down on the California desert, scorching everything in its wake. Even the wind is hot, whipping sand through the air and placing those grainy particles right into your mouth. It takes both you and Mallory a moment to regain your bearings and get used to being in the past. Mallory looks down at her body before looking at you, a wide grin on her face. 

“Thank God, I thought I’d be stuck in that ugly gray uniform for the rest of my life.” Mallory’s back in the clothes that are so familiar, wearing a sheer black gown over a black slip and cinched with a gold belt. Her signature golden headband is nestled in her chocolate locks, and her eyes hold that same spark that they once did before the end of the world. 

“I have to agree. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wear purple again.” The black of the lace tunic that matches the shade of the slip under it is comforting and reminds you of a home you thought had been lost forever. Your ankle boots are already making your feet start to ache after years of not having to wear them and, from Mallory shifting her weight from one foot to the other, you’d assume that she’s feeling the same way in her identical pair. “I forgot we had the same pair of shoes,” you note with delight.

“We shared so much of our wardrobes that I didn’t know we had two pairs of these for the longest time,” Mallory remembers fondly.

“I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt, because I could honestly spend all day just reminiscing with you, but if we want to stop the apocalypse then we need to hurry.” You grab Mallory’s arm and start walking, knowing that your destination is just over the hill. 

“And where exactly are we?”

“You said you would trust me, right?”

“Of course I did--I do, but-”

“Then trust me, Mal. I know Michael better than anyone, this is the point of no return for him.” The pieces start to click into place for Mallory. Being in the desert of California, what would constitute a major event for Michael that would only spur him quicker into the arms of his father, and why you’re both here instead of Mallory’s original plan of the Murder House (a conclusion that you had gathered upon learning that Mallory was meant to kill Michael when he was at his most vulnerable moment).

“Is this the day that the coven burnt Ariel and Baldwin at the stake?” You nod grimly. 

“They also killed the woman who had taken him in after his family had abandoned him. The coven killed Ms. Mead, which made Michael crazy with the desire for revenge. If we can stop Ms. Mead from being killed, then there’s a good chance that Michael never meets the Satanists that introduce him to the Cooperative. We can work to form an alliance with him and change his plans, instead of constantly running and fighting.” 

You know, as well as Mallory, that this plan could easily fail. You’re acting off of a hunch, and it’s a small hunch at that. Michael could still want to slaughter the coven due to their near-burning of his adoptive mother, and all of your efforts could be for naught. Knowing what you know now, however, the immense power that you possess and the depth of your love for Michael (and vice versa), you’re willing to bet your life, and the lives of seven billion people, on this hunch. 

“Let’s go, then. It’s-” Mallory pats her sides, eventually pulling a phone out of a pocket, “-eleven fifty, and executions are carried out at noon.” Her doe-eyes light up as she swipes the screen of her device, taking in the magic of electronics for the first time in almost two years. “I’ve missed a lot of things about life before the apocalypse, but electronics and wifi are definitely two of the top things.”

“I’d have to say seeing the sun again.” The warm rays act as an instant endorphin boost, making you tilt your head back in an effort to receive more of its’ warmth. “Remember before our memories got wiped, when Miss Cordelia sent you back to test and see if you could save Anastasia Romanov? Why is staying in the past so much easier for you this time?”

“Because the rising Supreme that I traveled with has enough power to easily keep both of us here until we complete what we’ve set out to do,” Mallory teases with a smile.

“You don’t really believe I’m the next Supreme. I mean, we’ve always operated on the assumption that you would be the next to lead the coven. And your magic’s just so strong that I just..” You trail off, leaving the question hanging. Everybody thought that Mallory was destined to be the Supreme, and you fell in line with that belief. The idea that you’re somehow stronger than a witch who has managed to bring an animal back to life and also restore its youth is hard to grasp.

“My magic is strong, you’re right. It’s light and airy,” she references the ‘feeling’ that all magic has attached to it, a gift that only a few witches possess, “things that Cordelia is highly attuned to. Your magic, however, is something I’ve never felt before. It’s fire and blood, death and destruction. You draw your magic from elements that aren’t of this realm, or any realm that I’ve ever heard of. I don’t know, maybe it’s tied to the fact that you’re in love with the fucking Antichrist.” 

“I guess--”

“Sorry, but I just--Cordelia always goes on about how it’s impossible for Michael to love anyone since he’s the Antichrist. That’s the basis of her argument as to why he’s irredeemable; because he can’t love. But, I’ve never seen anyone love more fiercely than how Michael loves you, and vice versa. If you really believe we can change the course of time, then I stand behind you. Michael would do anything for you.” You smile at the mention of your sweet lover, heart aching as you yearn to see him again.

“Michael used to tell me that he believed that, long before either of us were even born, our souls were together in whatever sort of spirit realm there is. I tend to believe him, considering I’ll never love anyone as much as I love Michael,” you say quietly as you coast over the hill, the tops of the stakes becoming visible from where you stand. “There’s this book that I read when I was younger; I didn’t care for it much, but there was always this one quote that stuck with me. After I told it to Michael, it sort of became ‘our’ quote: ‘And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.’ Cliche, probably, but we’re made for each other.”

The sound of a bell interrupts the quiet of the desert, and Mallory grabs your arm and pulls you down among the sand. You watch as the accused are led out by the coven’s stoic guards, the council following along behind them. Cordelia, Coco, Queenie, Zoe, and Myrtle watch as the three traitors are tied to the stakes behind them, delicate black umbrellas shielding them from the sun. You remember this day, how you and Mallory stayed behind in New Orleans as you were given the ‘honor’ of teaching the younger girls while the senior coven members were away. It was actually just a way for Cordelia to make sure that you wouldn’t be able to interfere with the executions, knowing your relationship to Michael would throw a wrench in her plans. 

“Ariel Augustus, Baldwin Pennypacker,” Cordelia addresses the two warlocks. “For the murder of your fellow warlock, John Henry Moore, and conspiring to commit treason against this coven, I, Cordelia Goode, on behalf of this council, sentence you to death by fire.” Two of the guards pick up cans of gasoline, emptying them onto the condemned men.

“Should we go?” Mallory whispers, stopping when you hold up a hand. 

“Not just yet,” you reply.

“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no witch may kill a condemned warlock. Only your brother may light the flame. I do not intend to break with that tradition today.” You stifle a gasp as John Henry Moore walks out, very much alive and not dead.

“How the fuck…?” You trail off.

“Oh, did I not mention that Cordelia had me bring him back to life?” Mallory says with a sheepish smile on her face.

“May I?” John Henry is handed his own can of gasoline, slowly walking towards Ms. Mead. 

You surge forward, deciding that it’s now or never to stop this event and hopefully stop the apocalypse. Grabbing Mallory’s arm, you transmute both of you in front of the rest of your coven. 

“Stop!” You yell, John Henry pausing right as he’s about to empty the can onto Ms. Mead.

“(Y/N)? Mallory? What are you two doing here? You were both given explicit instructions to stay with the other girls back at the house,” Cordelia steps forward, the anger in her eyes raging. While you would have been scared of this look years ago, nothing can scare you now.

“You can’t go through with this,” you plead loudly, voice carrying across the expanse of the execution area. 

“(Y/N), I have forgiven your prior relationship with Michael, but coming here in direct defiance of my orders is enough to have you burnt along with the others.”

“Cordelia, I’ve seen the future. If you do this, there will be no stopping the apocalypse.”

“I don’t recall clairvoyance as being one of your gifts.”

“It’s the Sight. At first, I wasn’t sure if what I was seeing was visions or really vivid dreams, but I’ve started having them when I’m awake as well. I saw it all; the slaughter of our coven at the hands of Michael, the apocalypse, what is to become of the world after it ends. If you kill Ms. Mead, you will lose any chance you have of working with Michael to devise an alternative solution.”

The Supreme stares at you for a long moment, trying to discern whether or not you’re lying. Technically, you’re not. You did develop some sort of Sight before Cordelia wiped your mind, and the dreams about Michael that plagued you for the entirety of your memory loss years were just an extension of that Sight. 

“She’s telling the truth,” Mallory speaks up, sensing the head witch’s hesitation. “I was with her when she had this vision.” Cordelia, who has always trusted Mallory more than almost any other witch, looks at her skeptically for a moment before slowly nodding.

“You’re sure of what you saw, then?” You nod.

“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.”

“Ariel and Baldwin still must face some sort of retribution for the murder of John Henry…”

“I’m not saying that they should escape punishment. You can do with them whatever you want. Ms. Mead, however, can’t be killed.” When no one goes to stop you, you undo the ropes that restrain Ms. Mead. John Henry, desperate for some sort of revenge, lifts his hand and engulfs his fellow warlocks in flames as you drag Ms. Mead away from the carnage. The stout woman, who has caught Michael sneaking around enough to have met you a couple of times, clutches your hand tightly when the ropes fall to the ground.

“My dear child, Satan will surely reward you for this!” She declares.

“I’m not doing this for you. You killed a warlock, one of my people, in cold blood. I’m only doing this because I care about Michael too much to let him ruin the world,” you say with a grim look on your face, turning to face Cordelia. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“And what do you suggest we do with her? Surely, we can’t just let her go,” Cordelia says. 

“That’s for you to decide, Miss Cordelia. You’ve already shown me enough mercy, and I don’t expect you to show me any more.”

“Ms. Mead!” A voice shouts in the distance, your heart racing as you hear the familiar voice. 

Michael walks towards the small group, eyes moving back and forth as he scans the scene. Suddenly, he’s not the suave, confident man you had been with less than an hour ago. This Michael is wearing a version of his Hawthorne uniform, messy blond curls short and smooth. His eyes brim with tears of emotion, and he clenches his fists at his side to keep from exploding. This is the Michael that you fell in love with, the boy that will always hold such a special place in your heart. A little messy, a little ruined, a little shattered: just like you.

“Michael,” you can’t stop yourself from calling his name, running into his arms before you can even think. He wraps himself around you protectively, kissing your forehead and brushing the hair off of your face. 

“What’s going on here?”

“Ms. Mead killed John Henry, and she was going to be executed for what she did. I stopped Cordelia from going through with it, though.”

“Why? Because it’s illegal to burn humans at the stake?”  _ Damn, hadn’t thought of that _ . 

“I couldn’t let her die, not when I know how much she means to you.” 

“Thank you,” he pulls you impossibly closer, burying his head in your shoulder. “I love you so much, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Michael.” You get a little choked up at the sudden nostalgia you feel for this Michael. You can only hope that some of this boy will remain in whatever Michael you encounter when you go back to your time. 

“Cordelia,” Michael says loudly, walking hand-in-hand towards the Supreme in a way that reminds you of the encounter with the same woman in what is now the future. Releasing you, he towers over the blonde woman in a way that has her almost cowering in fear. “If you  _ ever  _ fuck with me or my people again, I will make your life a living hell.” 

“You have my word, Michael, but you must promise me one thing first.” Michael raises an eyebrow, gesturing for Cordelia to go on. “Don’t go through with what your father has planned for you. Work with us, learn with us, and we can figure out a way to achieve both of our respective goals in a way that won’t irreparably damage the world.”

Michael looks hesitant, so you gently grab his chin and pull his attention towards you. “Listen to her. She’s not saying to completely turn your back on your father, she’s just saying that there’s other ways to achieve what you want without causing an armageddon.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you know something I don’t?” Michael mutters, obviously not used to you being the only one privy to information.

“Just trust me, okay? Learn some more about your magic, work together with my coven, and then make your decision instead of rushing into things while being blinded by emotions. Can you do that for me?” Michael stares at you before finally sighing and nodding, kissing the pads of your fingers lovingly. 

“You had better be right.”

“For all of our sakes, I hope so.”

“Alright, Cordelia, I’ll work with you,” Michael says to Cordelia, who slowly smiles in relief.

“That’s wonderful to hear, Michael.” You gasp at the tugging in your chest, feeling like a hook has snagged itself in your ribs and is pulling you somewhere. Michael’s concerned, and through the ringing in your ears you can hear him ask if you’re okay, but even through your pain you smile and nod.

“I think that’s our cue to leave. Michael, I love you. Always remember that you have a family.” Your form is starting to flicker, and you can see yourself wavering like a ghost. Mallory is the same way, taking stumbling, frantic steps forward to meet you before the spell wears off.

“But they’re all-”

“Family isn’t always blood. Family can be people who you hold dear to your heart. You’re my family, Michael Langdon.”

“(Y/N),” Mallory calls, gripping your hand right as your bodies disappear from this particular moment in time.

You feel as if you’re submerged in water again, the waves carrying you wherever they please. You don’t know if the world will remain the same as it was before you attempted the spell or if it will be different. If it is different, just how much have you been able to change by saving Ms. Mead from her fiery death? It does no good to dwell on these things, so you quiet your mind and allow the water to gently carry you towards your fate. 


	11. Apex Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s back to the future for you and Mallory, to either find out what went right…or what went very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one or two more chapters left of this work, how crazy! As always, feedback is appreciated and, if you enjoyed, I would love if you left a kudos or comment. Follow me on Tumblr @7-wonders to see more content like this!

The first thing that you hear when you arrive back in the year that you left is...nothing. In fact, you’re surrounded by complete silence. The eerie stillness of the room is an unwelcome presence that witnesses your return, considering all you could hear was screaming and gunshots when you pulled Mallory under the water. Coughing water up to get your lungs working properly, you wipe your hands over your eyes until you can finally see again. Droplets hang off of your eyelashes like small crystals, clouding your eyesight whenever you blink. Mallory sits next to you, mimicking your actions as she tries to regain her bearings again after being thrown through time and space again and again in such a short amount of time.

“Did...did we do it?” Mallory asks, taking your hands in hers as you both stand and clamber out of the tub. The room that you’re in doesn’t look like the one at the Outpost, even though the large stone tub is the same. Mallory’s still wearing the clothes that she was in when you were stopping the execution of Ms. Mead, and a quick look down confirms that you are, too. 

“I don’t know, did Cordelia ever tell you how you would know if events were changed?”

“No. Honestly, I assumed there would be some giant flash of light or something to signify that we had accomplished what we set out to achieve.” Mallory grabs your hand, muttering a spell that dries both your body and hers.

“I guess the only way to find out is by leaving the room,” you say without showing any intention towards actually leaving the room. 

“I guess so,” Mallory concurs, also standing still next to you. You glance at her at the same time that she glances at you, a silent battle over who is going to actually take the initiative first. 

“I’m going to have to lead the way, aren’t I.” It’s not a question: you’re going to have to lead.

“Hey, it’s not my Antichrist lover that we’re up against.”

She’s right, and you hate that she is, but you’re the one who convinced her to change the plan that she had been working towards for three years, just for the sake of saving Michael. You’re uncharacteristically hesitant, and you know that it all leads back to Michael. Everything, it seems, leads back to Michael. If the apocalypse didn’t happen, what has become of him? If he still ended the world, what’s going to happen to you? With a nod and a reassuring smile from Mallory, you wave your hand to open the door in front of you. 

It’s obvious that you’re not in the Outpost, but it’s not immediately clear where you could be. The large open window at the end of the hallway allowing a light breeze to filter through and blow the translucent curtains inwards captures your attention. Not only is there wind, but there’s also natural light coming in. It’s impossible to make any assumptions based solely on this observation, but it’s certainly a promising sign. Mallory, however, focuses on a different facet of the hallway.

“Are we at Miss Robichaux’s?” 

Her question sends your glee to a screeching halt. A closer look at the hallway reveals stark white walls and the French Quarter architecture synonymous with historic New Orleans. Any doubts you may have about where you’re at is erased when you look at the portraits on the wall; classes of years past, a variety of young women all in black dresses that vary from time period to time period. It’s odd to be back at the school that fostered your magical abilities, since the last time you were here, you had to see the dead bodies of your sisters. Still, no matter what could have happened here, this was once home for you.  _ I am home _ , you think in amazement.  _ I am home. _

“I’m so confused, I thought we came back to the present. Why are we here and not at Hawthorne?” You ask, fingertips tracing along an old picture frame from 1912. 

“Maybe the timeline resets when we come back and we’ve actually changed something, maybe this is where we would be if there was no apocalypse,” Mallory surmises, grinning at the thought that you’ve stopped the end of the world. “Miss Cordelia!” She calls, taking off around the corner as she looks for any sign of other witches.

“Mal, wait!” You follow behind her, glancing into the bedrooms and coming up empty. “Anybody home?”

You follow her down the grand staircase, still looking around for any of your sisters. You’re so preoccupied with looking towards the dining room for anyone doing homework that you run smack into Mallory’s back at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ouch! Why’d you stop?” She doesn’t answer, and you move out from behind her to see what stopped her so suddenly. Your attention, originally solely on Mallory, is drawn to the figure standing in the middle of the main entrance. The smirk that’s directed at you is one that has your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, your head spinning as you try to wrap your mind around what you’re seeing.

“You look surprised to see me.”

“Michael, you’re--you’re here. And you look like... _ you _ .” By ‘you,’ of course, you mean that Michael Langdon looks like the Michael Langdon that you had been hoping to come back to. His long golden locks fall to his shoulders, and he’s wearing a luxurious black velvet cloak with a deep red lining on top of a black suit that’s somehow a shade or two lighter than the cloak. His eyes twinkle at your confusion, accented by his signature red shade that somehow makes those baby blues of his pop even more.

“Of course I am. I would not miss the chance to welcome you back to the present after your time traveling adventure.” Your feet move of their own accord, propelling you over to him as you choke back a cry. “Love, there is no reason for your tears. I’m here now, it’s going to be alright.”

“I was just so worried that it wouldn’t work and that you would either die or the apocalypse would still happen,” you smile up at him, stroking his hair away from his face as he kisses you softly. “Sorry Mallory, I didn’t mean to make you the third wheel-”

Your words trail off as you turn around in Michael’s arms, Mallory frozen where she’s standing. She’s not frozen in the sense that she’s so stunned by the scene in front of her that she can’t even move; she’s actually frozen, suspended in time as if she’s a statue of someone walking down the stairs. Her hand rests on the bannister, one foot stuck in the air as she prepares to take a step that’s never coming. Her head is tilted up, eyes focusing to the side as if she were turning around to look at you.

“Michael, you promised me that you wouldn’t hurt her,” you say seriously, taking a step closer to make sure that Mallory’s still alive and hasn’t unknowingly faced some sort of Medusa-like creature. Michael grabs at your hand, gracefully taking your chin in his free hand and tilting it so that you’re looking at him again.

“And it’s a promise that I intend to keep. She’s not dead, or harmed, she is just--”

“You froze her like Han Solo, basically.” He looks at you in confusion and you shake your head. “Never mind. Could you unfreeze her now?”

“Hmm, but I quite like her like that, she’s a lot less...annoying this way.” You roll your eyes, jokingly hitting his chest while he chuckles. The small moment of playfulness is needed, it helps to remind you that the world is okay again. Michael sighs, smiling at you before blinking once and releasing Mallory from the spell.

She stumbles forward down the remaining step, almost as if Michael hit the ‘play’ button on a television remote. Her mind reels as she takes in the sight of you next to Michael when the last she remembers, you were still behind her. She glances between both you and Michael, trying to figure out what magic was used to manipulate the situation. 

“Wipe that confused look off of your face, Mallory, it’s very unbecoming of you,” Michael scoffs.

“So we did it, then? We--,” Mallory trails off, not sure if the rules of time travel allow for people to discuss the prior timeline.

“Oh don’t worry, Bill and Ted, I already know about your most excellent adventure.” You stifle a laugh at Michael’s reference of pop culture, knowing that the only reason he’s seen the movie is because you forced him to. 

“But I thought nobody was supposed to remember the erased timeline except for us?” You question, looking at Mallory, who’s far more knowledgeable on the spell than you are. 

“You forget that I’m not just any normal person,” Michael says proudly. “When I had reached the room that Cordelia had locked you in, both you and Mallory were already gone. It seemed like mere seconds, although I assume that you were actually gone for hours. Suddenly, I started getting flashes of memories. They were memories that I hadn’t experienced, but that I were mine all the same. Instead of my Ms. Mead being burned at the stake, you were there to stop the execution and convince me to join forces with Cordelia. I had conflicting memories from both of these timelines, sort of like a fork in the road of two different lives that I was living simultaneously.”

“Ms. Mead was the catalyst, then. Her death is the reason that you brought about the end of the world.”

“In the original timeline, yes.” Your heart sinks at Michael’s words.

“What do you mean, ‘in the original timeline?’ Did something happen in this timeline to cause the apocalypse?” Mallory asks, barely controlling the shaking in her voice. 

“Not in the way that you think. See, if there’s one thing retaining my memories from the original timeline taught me, it’s that my original apocalypse was far too messy. I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty; learned that from my father. This time around, I decided, it wasn’t the Earth that was the problem: it was the people. I wasn’t going to launch my little plan without a justified reason, and so I waited and watched to see if my assumptions about the human race were correct.”

The walls feel like they’re closing in on you, and you have to will yourself to not stumble over your feet. “What did--what did you do? Michael, what did you  _ do _ ?” You gasp out.

“The real question is what they did to bring this upon themselves,” he says with a grim look on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“The witches tried to use the one person I care for more than Ms. Mead, more than anybody in the entire world: you.”

“They did that in the original timeline too, though.”

“This wasn’t something as simple as erasing your memory and sending you off to wait for the moment the witches needed you again. Cordelia almost killed you, (Y/N).”

“She wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t--she  _ couldn’t  _ kill one of us,” Mallory says, both of you feeling a bit faint at this bombshell of a revelation.

“She never forgave your actions at the would-be triple execution that day, considering your interference treasonous. That and your relationship with me, along with a few...other events that, while miniscule, only seemed to add fuel to her fire. Therefore, she decided that you needed to die.”

Your mouth goes dry as Mallory lets out a heavy breath next to you. “How?” You ask, only managing to get one syllable out.

“‘How’ what?”

“How did she try to kill me?” Your voice is hoarse, and you swallow thickly to try and clear your throat.

“Cordelia attempted to slit your throat on an evening that I was supposed to be back in California for a meeting with some of my father’s subjects. I, however, knew she was plotting something, had seen it through the carefully-constructed walls she had attempted to put up to guard her mind. It really would just be easier if I showed you.” Michael holds his hand out expectantly, but you look at Mallory before looking pleadingly back at him. “ _ Fine _ . Mallory, take (Y/N)’s hand.”

She does as instructed, holding onto you as Michael clasps your free one in his large hands. The coolness of his large, bejeweled rings on your skin is comfortingly familiar, and you raise his hands to your lips to kiss them softly. Michael’s eyes roll back into his head, and the scene flickers to life in your head like a movie being played on a projector.

_ Cordelia approaches your bedroom, a knife in her hand and a plan in her head. She’s been waiting for the right moment to do this, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get close to you with Michael always around. Michael being gone on a sudden trip to California, though, presents the Supreme with the perfect opportunity. Her plan is simple: slit your throat, lock your soul up before whatever entity (she’s not sure if Satan’s laid claim to your soul, but she hopes for her sake that he hasn’t) that has dibs on it gets there first, and burn your body to ashes. It’s a quick and painless death, one that Cordelia feels is a mercy to you. She could burn you alive, listen to you writhe and scream in agony as the flames consume every inch of your flesh, but she won’t. That punishment is reserved only for those who have murdered their fellow witches or warlocks. _

_ She supposes she has her mother to thank for the creativity that comes with killing a problematic witch. Fiona Goode, may God have mercy on her soul, was a conniving, stone-cold bitch who was only good for drinking copious amounts of fine alcohol and accruing untold amounts of money. Her one skill, however, happened to be getting rid of those witches who wouldn’t fall in line, the ones who were always on the verge of causing complete chaos within the Coven. Her methods are legendary, each disposal carefully recorded in a little book that resides inside of a larger book inside of a locked box in a secret drawer of Cordelia’s desk. A trophy, because of course Fiona wouldn’t be able to not gloat about her supposed accomplishments. For years she avoided looking inside of the book, having never had a reason or desire to do so. Now, however, she has both a reason and a desire. _

_ Her mother’s drink of choice--whiskey sour, on the rocks--perched in her manicured hand, Cordelia perused the book like it was a magazine catalogue, quickly and calculatingly reading through each entry to decide which would be the best way to end your life. Some entries surprised her, while others warranted barely more than a second glance. She always had a niggling suspicion that Fiona had had something to do with Madison’s first death. Fiona hardly strayed from the tried-and-true method of throat slitting in her later years, and Cordelia admitted to herself that she saw the appeal in it too. If she had to kill someone, one of her girls, at that, at least it was a quick way for the person to go.  _

_ The door to your room opens without even a squeak to announce Cordelia’s presence. Even if there had been a noise, it wouldn’t have woken you up. The benzodiazepine that the Supreme slipped into the glass of water you use to take your pills with made absolutely sure that you would remain asleep until it was too late. You’re facing away from the door, moonlight bathing your form as your chest rises and falls evenly with deep breaths. Cordelia’s heart clenches at the thought of what she’s about to do, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to avoid turning around and forgetting about her plan to murder you in the first place.  _

_ With each step she takes, she reminds herself of a reason why she needs to do this. Left foot, you stopped Ms. Mead from being killed. Right foot, you recruited Mallory to your side. Left foot, you were involved in a romantic relationship with the Antichrist and loved him despite the fact. Right foot, your relationship was only prolonging the inevitable apocalypse that would befall the Earth for as long as Michael remained alive. The point now is to catch Michael when he’s at his weakest, in the throes of grief, and kill him as well. _

_ Cordelia tangles her fingers in your hair, exposing your neck to her as your head lolls limply to the side. The light from the hallway glints off of the silver blade of the knife when Cordelia lifts it up. She looks at it closely, ‘inspecting’ it and certainly not trying to stall in the hopes that you’ll just spontaneously combust and do the job for her. With a deep breath, the Supreme digs the knife into the left side of your neck, pressing down until it cuts the surface of your skin and blood wells up before readying her hand for one quick slice. When she does finally go to complete the action, her hand seizes, refusing to cooperate with her mind before the knife flies across the room and lands in the wall. _

_ You shoot up with a gasp, too many things happening at once. Cordelia tries to escape, but she shrieks and stumbles backwards when she’s engulfed in flames. Just as quickly as the flames appear, they extinguish, but Cordelia finds herself pinned against the wall by an unseen force. Your hand claps over the deep cut on your neck as you stare at the scene with wide eyes. The shadows in the corner of the room seem to move and warp, and it’s not at all surprising when Michael walks out of the darkness. The shadows and all of the creatures that lurk within are Satan’s domain, so it was only a matter of time until Michael harnessed that power as well. _

_ Fire blazes in Michael’s eyes, and he stalks towards Cordelia like a predator closing in on its kill. Her heart sinks when she realizes that he must have been able to break through the fortress she put up around her mind, devising a clever lie about having to suddenly leave town in order to catch her in the act. The only thing that stops his slow, methodical pace is when he reaches you. His hand closes gently around yours, removing it from your neck so he can fully see the wound. His nostrils flare at the damage, and you cling to him in fear and disorientation as the benzo tries it's hardest to knock you back out. He looks into your eyes, muttering words of reassurance to you and kissing your forehead before you finally agree to let go of the hem of his coat. _

_ Michael holds his hand out, and the knife dislodges from the wall and lands back in his hand. He traces it along Cordelia’s bare skin, watching with glee as her body stiffens. The tip comes dangerously close to nicking her collarbone, Michael purposely applying more pressure. When the blade reaches the swell of her breast, he stops, angling the knife so one skillful shove could have pierced her heart. Cordelia’s chest heaves as she engages in a silent battle with Michael, both parties refusing to concede any ground. _

_ “Go ahead, kill me. You won’t be able to do it,” Cordelia declares. Michael clicks his tongue, laughing darkly and shaking his head. _

_ “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That would be too much of a mercy for you.” His hand closes itself over her neck, slowly applying pressure on her windpipe until only shallow breaths are escaping her throat. “Instead, I’m going to end the world, and you’re going to be forced to watch, knowing all the while that it’s your fault this is happening. And only then, after the world is remade in my father’s image, will I kill you. And I promise you, Cordelia, that it will be a slow and painful death, the likes of which you could never even imagine.” _

Tears are falling down your face when Michael lets go of you, and once glance at Mallory confirms that she’s in the same state. You’re in disbelief that your Supreme, the woman you trusted with your life and who became a surrogate mother to you, would choose to kill you because of your relationship with Michael. How could she so callously plan out your execution as if each choice were for some sort of a dinner party? You knew she could go to great extremes to do what she believed needed to be done to keep the coven safe, but you never thought murdering one of her girls would be an option.

“Now you see. I tested Cordelia, and she failed. The human race failed, and the world needed to be cleansed and ruled by myself and my father,” Michael says.

“How are we above ground, then?” You ask.

“As I said previously, my first attempt at Armageddon was far too messy and complicated. This time around, a simple plague was all it took to wipe out humanity while leaving the good parts of the world intact. That way, it’s much easier to rebuild with an already-strong foundation.”

“How very biblical of you, Michael. Did lamb’s blood over a doorway save people, as well?” You scoff at the irony of his method this time around, invoking a plague much like that brought upon the Egyptians to free the Israelites.

“Part of a strong foundation,” Michael says, choosing to ignore your comment instead of taking the bait, “includes those with the right genetic makeup to repopulate the world. The people who were originally saved in the first timeline survived the plague this time.” You sigh in relief at the knowledge that Timothy and Emily are both still alive. “You’ll be pleased to know, (Y/N), that your dear friend Gallant also has superior DNA. He’s alive and well in California right now.” That’s news you could cry at, and you almost do.

“What about the witches and warlocks? Did you slaughter all of them again?” Mallory asks.

“No, I presented them with a choice: either they joined me and pledged their loyalty as my obedient subjects, or they died. Quite simple, really.”

Mallory looks at you as you both start mentally cataloguing who would have accepted Michael’s offer. A good number of the warlocks must have, but you can’t imagine that John Henry Moore would. As for witches, the numbers are slim. Zoe wouldn’t unless Madison did, the two sticking together even though they’ve long claimed that there’s nothing special going on between them. Queenie, too, if Michael managed to gain her trust again in this timeline. It’s possible that Coco did, considering the Coco you knew before your memories were wiped was sweet and caring. Besides those few, the rest most likely perished.

“You’re correct, for the most part,” Michael says, having listened in on Mallory’s thoughts. “A lot of the warlocks were never going to be worthy of living in the New World, so I disposed of them quick enough. Madison, Queenie, and Coco all decided to save themselves, but Zoe refused to go down without a fight. I was honestly quite surprised at just how many witches jumped at the chance to fall to their knees at my feet.”

“So that’s it, then. We lost. Even going back in time and killing Michael wouldn’t have stopped this,” Mallory says in despair.

“You were right in the Outpost, when you said you were always going to win,” you say in almost a whisper.

“Time travel is a fickle thing, and it’s almost impossible to work out if there are any true rules that govern it. However, I’ve come to believe that time is a repeating loop. Think of it like...developing photographs in a darkroom. You can change the contrast, and how much light is exposed, and how long you develop it for, but the image itself will always remain the same. You can’t change what’s on that film, no matter what edits you do during the process of developing said photo. Nothing you did would have stopped the end result, what has been printed on the very fabric of the universe since the beginning of time,” Michael explains.

“Now what?”

“We rebuild the world, of course. But that leaves you both with a choice.” His eyes meet yours first, a rare flash of vulnerability hidden within the pale irises, like he’s worrying that you’ll have finally decided to leave him just like everyone in his life. “(Y/N), will you stand beside me as my equal, as my queen, and help me with the mission bestowed upon me as my father’s one begotten son?”

There’s not a moment’s hesitation behind your eager nod, “of course I will, Michael. I’ll always stand at your side.” Michael takes your face in between his hands, kissing you gratefully. Although he’s rather eloquent with words, sometimes his actions prove far more effective at conveying what he wants to say.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips, causing you to smile before repeating the words back to him. When he pulls away from you, the only sign that he was even kissing you are his slightly red lips, managing to look as put-together and stoic as ever, even though Mallory watched the entire encounter. 

“Mallory, will you accept your place in this world as your sister witches prior to you have done?” Michael asks as you look at her hopefully. She’s silent, studying Michael as she calculates her next move.

“I...I need to know that we won’t be used and thrown away as you had planned in the original timeline. Witches can be a valuable asset to you, Michael, but you won’t be able to use that asset if you don’t hold our magic, and our people, in high regard. You certainly haven’t forgotten that (Y/N) is one of us, too?”

“You have my word. If anything, your actions over those eighteen months in the other timeline have proven your loyalty, not only to (Y/N), but to your coven. That loyalty is an admirable quality, and it’s one that we’ll need when rebuilding.”

“Then yes, I will accept.” You clasp your hands in front of your face, hiding your wide smile as Mallory accepts. Your cheeks burn as Michael replaces your hands with just two of his delicate fingers, turning your attention back to him as he smiles lovingly down at you. 

“And now, my love, my  _ queen _ ,” you giggle nervously at the moniker, “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Your eyes light up, although you’re not quite sure you could be anymore surprised after everything that’s happened since you emerged from that tub upstairs.

“Mmhm. It involves a certain fading Supreme, and an immense amount of retribution.”


	12. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. Or, alternatively, the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter of Shatter. Depending on feedback, I may or may not do an epilogue, but the story ends here. Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always appreciated, as are kudos and comments. If you enjoyed, I have a lot more writing that you should check out on my page!

The sun shines high in the sky, a stark change from the smoke-filled, ashy skies that dominated the original timeline. Those that still inhabit the Earth (most of them), however, have no memory of that timeline. For them, this  _ is _ their only timeline. This is all that they know, and all that they will know. Only a privileged few are privy to the knowledge of how this timeline came to be.

Cordelia Goode is dragged through the desert by the guards that once swore their lives to protect her. She refuses to scream, remaining silent and defiant as she’s thrown onto her knees in front of what will be her demise. Her white robes become sullied with the reddish-brown dirt below her, nearly being pressed into the ground by one stoic guard as the other gets the ropes ready to restrain her to the stake. The worst part about this method of killing her, Cordelia thinks bitterly while she’s hauled back up and marched directly to the stake, is that she knows exactly what’s going to happen. 

Michael had made good on his promise to make Cordelia watch as the world came to an end, making her painfully aware of every little thing that happened throughout the course of the apocalypse. At first, she had tried to just ignore the television that was constantly turned into the news and the newspapers that were in her prison everyday. For a while, it had worked as well as desensitizing oneself to a stream of droning voices that never shut up can be. Eventually, Michael had gotten bored of letting her think she was winning, and had much more fun manipulating her dreams so that she had no choice but to know everything that was happening outside the four walls she had come to know as her home over the past three years.

Cordelia tilts her head to the side, watching as her beloved mentor, Myrtle Snow, is dragged to her own stake. She’s dressed in the same white garments as Cordelia, not having been allowed the concession of picking her death robes like she had for her second burning at the stake. Unlike Cordelia, Myrtle refuses to remain silent, questioning “why must you be so brutish towards a lady?” and if “there will be refreshments provided prior to our executions?”

They file in slowly when the bell tolls at noon, all dressed in their finest black attire. Some of Cordelia’s former students, such as Coco and Queenie, refuse to look their disgraced Supreme in the eyes. Whether it’s because they can’t bear to face the thought of possible betrayal or because they won’t look at someone who attempted to murder one of her ‘girls’ in cold blood, Cordelia can’t be sure. Other students, like Madison, stare smugly, triumphantly at Cordelia. Still others, like Mallory (sweet Mallory, who was supposed to be the one to save the world, to defeat the great evil that is Michael Langdon), look at Cordelia, but only hesitantly and when she thinks nobody’s looking. The idle chatter of those who will observe the executions stops, and Cordelia knows that can only mean one thing: the Antichrist has arrived.

Cordelia senses him before she sees him, can feel the heavy air that accompanies his presence. If she listens closely, she swears that she can hear the agonized screams of souls being tortured in Hell with every step the son of the Devil takes. When she does see him, she has to fight to stop the shudder that threatens to wrack through her body.

Michael Langdon makes his triumphant entrance clad in all the finery that one would expect the ‘king’ (Cordelia refuses to actually refer to him as such) of this Hell on Earth to have available to him. His red suit jacket and black shirt give Cordelia an odd sense of deja vu, but she’s not sure where it comes from. The luxurious red-lined black cloak that’s draped over his shoulders is fastened with two ornate pentagrams, the silver perfectly contrasting the onyx crown that sits atop his golden locks. His bright blue eyes, only accentuated more with the deep red eyeshadow that highlights his inner eyelid, twinkle with mirth as his full lips pull up into a smirk.

Michael takes his time swaggering up to his chosen position in front of Cordelia, standing mere feet away from her. She wants to punch him, kick him, scratch him,  _ hurt _ him, but she can’t. Even if she could free herself, it would be impossible for her to use her magic. She hasn’t been able to use her magic since the night she was imprisoned, Michael locking up her abilities just like she had been planning to lock up (Y/N)’s soul. 

Idly, Cordelia wonders what’s become of you. She had managed to get the knife in deep enough that you were bleeding pretty heavily; maybe Michael was too late? She doubts it, but she doesn’t see you, which gives her hope. Surely, if you were alive, you would be right by Michael’s side as his ‘queen.’ There’s no way that he wouldn’t take the chance to rub it in her face that she failed.

“Myrtle Snow,” Michael says teasingly, relishing in the sweet taste of victory, “Cordelia Goode. For the attempted murder of your queen and fellow witch, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and conspiring to commit treason against the new world, I, Michael Langdon, Antichrist and king of this new world, sentence you to death by fire.” 

Two of the guards pick up cans of gasoline, emptying them onto the condemned women. Cordelia coughs and sputters as some of the gasoline gets into her mouth, but Myrtle refuses to even look down at them.

“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no warlock...or other male magic user,” Michael smirks, knowing as well as everybody that he’s no ordinary warlock, “may kill a condemned witch. Only your sister may light the flame. I do not intend to break with that tradition today.” 

Bitterly, Cordelia realizes that he’s reciting the speech she had given before the attempted execution of Ms. Mead. She looks expectantly at Mallory, assuming that the girl she’s trained to become the Supreme will light the flame that consumes her.

That assumption goes flying out the window the moment that you appear via transmutation, your darkly-painted lips turned up in a sickeningly misleading smile. Your black dress, long and form-fitting, flows behind you in the wind as you take Michael’s outstretched hand. A matching black crown, daintier than Michael’s, is perfectly placed on your head. You look everything like the queen Michael has proclaimed you to be, and Cordelia notices with a sinking stomach that the power seems to almost visibly spark and crackle around you.

“I’ll allow you to do the honors,” Michael says softly to you, stroking the hair that surrounds your face and smiling at the sight of you in a crown. 

“Are you sure? I know you’ve been waiting years for this.” It’s not that you’re hesitant; actually, you’d be more than happy to end the life of the woman who’s manipulated and ruined your life for the past five (has it been five? It could be less, but it’s felt like a lifetime has passed since that day Michael stormed into Miss Robichaux’s with an AI machine gun). You’re worried that you’re stealing Michael’s magnum opus right out from under him, the thought of which you almost can’t bear.

Michael, sensing your unease at possibly upsetting him, smiles reassuringly. “Nothing would give me greater joy than seeing you, my dear, take what’s yours.” With that, you nod and turn your gaze back to the two women in front of you.

Myrtle Snow can see the fire building in your eyes even before it begins to catch on the gasoline that she’s bathed in. You shoot her a pitying look, “don’t worry. Your death will be quick compared to Cordelia’s.” With only a tilt of your head, the fire quickly starts.

Myrtle’s screams echo across the sparse landscape, neither you nor Michael making a move for Cordelia until long after the red-haired witch has become merely a smoldering pile of remains. You both want to be absolutely sure that Cordelia feels the enormity of her looming death.

“As for you, _Miss_ _Cordelia_ ,” you spit vehemently before flicking your wrist. Immediately, the Supreme cries out in agony. It feels as if the blood in her body has been replaced with molten-hot lava, a torturous heat coursing through her veins. If your power’s anywhere close to what she believes it to be, then she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case. “You’ve spent years dictating how my life plays out. You prevented me from seeing the love of my life, attempted to have my memory wiped, and not to mention the time that you almost killed me.”

“Everything I did, I did for your benefit!” Cordelia calls out, screaming when she feels deep cuts spontaneously open on the soles of her feet. With no way to sit or relieve the pressure, she’s forced to stand and exacerbate the wounds.

“No, everything you did was for  _ your _ benefit.” You stalk closer to the stake, Michael more than happy to let you have your moment. “I used to  _ idolize _ you, you know? You were everything I hoped to become. And then I saw you for what you truly are: no better than your greedy, vain, power-hungry,  _ bitch _ of a mother.”

“You can’t kill me,” Cordelia starts to laugh, “I’m your  _ Supreme _ , you insolent girl. Do you truly believe that the coven will let you get away with this?”

“We already have,” Michael says haughtily from behind you. “Look around you, Cordelia. Your ‘coven’ has long-since accepted their places in this new world order: as our loyal subjects.”

“You attempted to murder one of your own. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t do the same to any of them?” You shoot a false-sympathetic look at Cordelia, almost pitying her for her naivety towards this situation.

Cordelia looks around, sure that, at any moment, her girls will rise up and free her. Surely, this must be some elaborate ruse, some long-conceived plan to save their Supreme? All Cordelia finds in the faces of the girls she once called ‘hers,’ however, is varying looks of disdain, apathy, and disgust.

A whine slips past her lips before she can catch it, and she closes her eyes tightly to avoid seeing the faces of those she once mentored as she’s burned alive. Her eyes are, of course, then forced open by your magic. She can’t even look away from you, frozen on your face as you smile softly and lean in so you’re mere inches away from her.

“I want my face to be the only thing you see as you die,” your voice drops to nearly a whisper, your smirk evident as you back up and rejoin hands with Michael. You hold up your hand, poised to snap into existence the spark that will end Cordelia’s life. “Anything else to add?”

“Mallory will put an end to this. When I die, she’ll assume the role of Supreme and rise to her destiny, which is to defeat the Antichrist,” Cordelia spits. To her shock, your laugh peals through the air.

“You really haven’t figured it out?  _ I _ am the next Supreme. I would have thought that the raw power flowing off of me was enough of a clue, but I guess not,” you shrug. “And I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Michael.”

“I  _ do _ have one other thing to add, my love.” Michael smiles at you, before resuming his stone-cold demeanor to face Cordelia. “Give my regards to my father.”

The snap of your fingers seems to reverberate across the plane, Cordelia’s wailing following soon after. You can both feel it the moment her soul leaves her body, only yours is due to the influx of powers as one Supreme falls and another rises. Michael catches you in his arms as your knees buckle, your nose bleeding as your body taking a moment to get used to the immense power that flows through your veins. Michael smiles reassuringly when you look up at him, kissing you and taking pleasure in licking the blood off of your lips.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks.

“I wanna leave,” you mutter, eyes conveying just how difficult it’s been for you to put up this facade. 

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Michael would move the stars for you if asked, so fulfilling your request to leave this environment is far-too easy. With a curt nod to some of his followers, conveying that it’s their job to see the execution through, Michael takes your hand and disappears with you.

* * *

Michael doesn’t bring up the day’s events until much later, when you’ve both had a chance to decompress back home at the Sanctuary. You’re sitting at a vanity in the corner of your room, combing through your hair after your shower. When Michael comes in, holding two glasses of what you assume to be celebratory champagne, you smile.

“Hi,” you say quietly, turning your head to kiss him.

“Hi. I’m sorry about today.” You can hear the pain in his voice, and you frown.

“Don’t be, I’m the one who asked if I could do it.”

“Still, I should have known that this naturally would have been difficult for you.” Michael grabs your hand, pulling you up from your seat so that he can be sure you’re listening. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You can’t help but to scoff. “For what? Killing people?”

“No,” he says patiently, “for facing your demons.”

“Cordelia wasn’t--” even after all she’s put you through, you still find yourself automatically jumping to her defense. “How do you do it so effortlessly? Even in the Outpost, when I killed Ms. Venable, I still felt bad. She had done nothing but abuse me for eighteen months, and yet I was remorseful after I snapped her neck.”

“It’s because you have a conscience. You have a soul, that’s so bright and beautiful and complicated and  _ you _ . Killing, my love, isn’t in your nature. Of course, you can do it when need be, but you’re not a monster like I am.”

“Don’t,” you say sternly, “you know I hate when you call yourself that.”

“Is it not true?” Michael retorts. “I’m a killer, (Y/N). I kill these people, and I feel nothing. Maybe some relief, or a sense of satisfaction, but nothing more. I killed almost all of the world’s population without blinking an eye, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.  _ That’s _ what makes us so different.”

“But it’s also why we work so well together, isn’t it?” Taking the glasses of champagne from him, you place them on the table as his hands go to your hips.

“It’s why you’re my queen,” Michael concurs. A smirk spreads on your face, all thoughts of death and destruction gone in a mere second.

“Mhm, say it again?”

“My queen. My sweet, beautiful queen whom I adore to Hell and back again.” You giggle as Michael sweeps you into his arms, tossing you on the bed. “Nothing can harm us now, my queen. We’re unstoppable together.”

“We’ve conquered every obstacle we’ve faced, and we’ll continue to do so”

Michael begins to crawl towards you. “We won. This world is ours now, to see to it as we please.”

“There’s only one thing I want to see to right now,” you say suggestively, leaning back on your arms as he begins to lay over you.

“Why, you couldn’t be insinuating what I believe you are?” Michael says in mock-shock, and you bite your lip.

“Maybe...we christen this bed?” Michael’s lips finally meet yours, both of you humming contentedly. 

“And after that, we christen the bathroom, and the other bedrooms, and my office…” With each new location, he kisses a different part of your face.

“The kitchen, and maybe the balcony as well,” you suggest, earning a kiss to your cleavage.

“Excellent ideas, but I feel as if those locales will have to wait for tomorrow.”

“Shame,” you muse quietly, allowing Michael to start tugging your dress off.

“A true shame,” Michael agrees lowly, nearly ripping your dress off of your body. In this moment, as you’re here with Michael and with no responsibilities, is one you’d like to bottle up and capture forever. “First…”

He gets up from the bed, leaving you frowning as he grabs the forgotten glasses of champagne and hands one to you.

“Setting the mood?” you tease.

“I believe a celebratory toast is in order.” Michael raises his glass, trying to think of a proper toast for this occasion. “To…”

“To…” you murmur as well, thinking for a moment. “To us, and the rest of our forever.” Michael nods, his wide smile making it almost impossible to kiss you. 

“To the rest of our forever.”


End file.
